The 


Silver 
Blade 


CHARLES  E.WALK 


< 


THE  SILVER  BLADE 


"  GOOD  Goo,  MOBI.EY  !     DID  You  Do  Tm> 


THE 

SILVER  BLADE 


THE  TRUE  CHRONICLE  OF  A 
DOUBLE  MYSTERY 

BY 

CHARLES  EDMONDS  WALK 


WITH  FIVE  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
BY  A.  B.  WENZELL 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG   &   CO. 
1908 


COPYEIOMT 
A.  C.   McCLDEQ  A  CO. 

1908 

Published  March  18, 1906 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  Eng. 

Ml  Rightt  Reserved. 


ft.    R.    DONNRLLKY    «t    SONS   COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  BROTHER 
GEORGE  EDWARD  WALK 

WHOSE  INTEREST  IN  THE  GROWTH  OF  THIS  STORY 

WAS  NOT  THE  LEAST  INCENTIVE 

TO  ITS  COMPLETION 


2138789 


i 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I.     A  DUPLEX  PROBLEM 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  EXIT  SENOR  DE  SANCHEZ    ' 15 

II.  THE  FIRST  PROBLEM  DEVELOPS     ....  29 

III.  A  SEARCH  FOR  CLUES 45 

IV.  MR.  CONVERSE  APPEARS  AS  CHORUS       .      .  60 
V.  A  TELEGRAM  FROM  MEXICO 77 

VI.  THE  INQUEST 87 

VII.  THE  VERDICT 103 

VIII.  CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME 122 

IX.  THE  SECOND  PROBLEM 135 

X.  FOOTPRINTS 151 

XI.  A  BURNT  FRAGMENT 165 

XII.  A  DOOR  is  OPENED 177 

BOOK  II.     CHARLOTTE  FAIRCHILD 

I.  Miss  CHARLOTTE  WAITS  IN  THE  HALL    .      .  193 

II.  Miss  CHARLOTTE  ENTERTAINS  A  CALLER      .  208 

III.  "PAQUITA  — WHAT  Do  You  SPELL?"     .      .  220 

IV.  Miss  CHARLOTTE  BECOMES  A  FACTOR      .      .  236 

[7] 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

V.    A  DECISION  AND  A  LETTER 245 

VI.     FAINT  RAYS  FROM  STRANGE  SOURCES.      .      .  252 

VII.    A  VOICE  IN  THE  NIGHT 262 

VIII.    THE  CORONER'S  COUP 275 

•  IX.    THE  LIGHT  BRIGHTENS  —  AND  DIMS       .      .  283 

BOOK  III.     SLADE'S  BLESSING 

I.    OPENING  WAYS 301 

II.     FAIRCHILD  REDFVTVUS 314 

III.  "THE  THUNDERBOLT  HAS  FALLEN"  ...  330 

IV.  SOME  LOOSE  ENDS 338 

V.     MR.  SLADE  RESIGNS 341 

VI.    AN  ARREST 351 

VII.     "SLADE'S  BLESSING" 367 

BOOK  IV.     THE  DANCER  AND  THE  MOUNTEBANK 

I.     "THAT  Is  PAQUITA" 379 

II.     THE  SERPENT  STRIKES 385 

III.     WHICH  Is  THE  LAST                            .     .      .  400 


[8] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


"Good  God,  Mobley!     Did  you  do  this?'1     .      Frontispiece 

Captain  Converse  was  endowed  with  the  impassive- 
ness  of  an  Indian,  nor  could  one  imagine  him 
agitated  in  any  circumstances  .  .  62 

Joyce  was  herself  a  mystery,  an  enigma,  as  inscru- 
table as  "  Paquita"  ...  .  .  .180 

Mr.  Mountjoy's  thin,  handsome  features  were  saved 
from  asceticism  only  by  the  lines  of  humor  about 
his  eyes  .......  290 

At  times  Charlotte  became  beautiful ;  a  warm  tide  of 
color  mounted  to  her  cheeks;  her  head  became 
regally  erect  .......  352 


[9.1 


LIST  OF   CHARACTERS 


GEN.  PEYTON  WESTBROOK,  a  gentleman  of  the  Old  South. 

MRS.  WESTBROOK,  his  wife. 

DR.  MOBLEY  WESTBROOK,  their  son. 

JOYCE,  Mobley's  sister. 

MRS.  ELINOR  FAIRCHILD,  a  widow  of  fallen  fortunes. 

CLAY,  her  son. 

"Miss  CHARLOTTE,"  Clay's  sister. 

JOHN  CONVERSE,  Captain  of  Detectives. 

MR.  MOUNTJOY,  the  District  Attorney. 

MR.  MERKEL,  the  Coroner. 

J.  HOWARD  LYNDEN,  a  cotton-broker. 

SENOR  JUAN  DE  VARGAS  Y  ESCOLADO,  otherwise  known 

as  Seiior  Vargas,  a  Mexican  capitalist. 
WILLIAM  SLADE,  an  abstracter  of  titles. 
ABRAM  FOLLETT,  a  dealer  in  worn-out  utilities. 
ROBERT  NETTLETON,  a  lawyer. 
FERDINAND  HOWE,  a  banker. 

HARRY  MCCALEB  ) 

>  serving  under  Cant.  Converse. 
SEPTIMUS  ADAMS    ) 

SAM  ^| 

>  faithful  servants. 
MELISSA 

POLLY  ANN  J 

THE  PLACE:  A  City  in  the  South. 
TIME:  The  Present. 


BOOK  I. 
A  DUPLEX  PROBLEM 


7*  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me, 
The  handle  toward  my  hand  ? 

—MACBETH. 


THE  SILVER  BLADE 

BOOK  I  — A  DUPLEX  PROBLEM 


CHAPTER  I 

EXIT  SENOR  DE  SANCHEZ 

AJOUT  six  o'clock  on  an  evening  in  the  early  part  of  a 
recent  November,  the  drowsy  quiet  sometimes  per- 
vading police  headquarters  was  rudely  broken  by 
the  precipitate  entrance  of  a  young  man,  who  made  his 
way  hurriedly  to  the  door  marked,  in  neat  gilt  letters,  "  CHIEF 
OF  POLICE." 

In  addition  to  the  reserve  squad,  whose  vigil  never  ends, 
many  other  officers  were  present  in  the  lazy  transition  stage 
between  going  on  and  going  off  duty.  The  attention  of 
them  all  was  immediately  attracted  to  the  stranger,  and 
held  by  his  extraordinary  manner,  from  the  instant  he 
became  visible  in  the  flickering  gas-lights  until  he  finally 
disappeared. 

In  the  first  place,  he  was  not  such  a  one  as  usually  comes 
to  the  city-hall  basement,  either  voluntarily  or  when  haled 
hither  by  one  of  the  law's  myrmidons;  for  he  was  fashion- 
ably, even  fastidiously,  attired,  with  a  marked  preciosity 
of  manner  which  would  have  been  even  more  noticeable 
under  ordinary  conditions. 

But  it  was  not  over  any  idiosyncrasy  of  apparel  or  cus- 
tomary detail  of  personality  that  the  aroused  curiosity  of  the 

[15] 


The  Silver  Blade 

officers  lingered.  Inured  as  they  were  to  uncommon  and 
surprising  events,  they  were  nevertheless  startled  by  this 
young  man's  advent,  and  greatly  interested  in  his  extreme 
discomposure.  It  was  obvious  to  the  most  casual  glance 
that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  fright  so  potent  that  it  possessed 
him  to  the  complete  exclusion  of  e,very  other  feeling,  made 
him  oblivious  of  the  scrutiny  to  which  he  was  subjected, 
and  drove  him  blindly  to  the  commission  of  some  idea 
fixed  by  the  terror  which  mastered  him.  And  there  was 
one  other  still  more  powerful  emotion  depicted  in  his 
pallid,  twitching  countenance:  a  horror  unspeakable. 

Looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  the  stranger 
walked  directly  to  the  Chief  of  Police  just  as  that  official 
was  in  the  act  of  closing  and  locking  his  office  door  for  the 
night.  The  latter  looked  up  inquiringly,  and,  struck  at 
once  by  the  young  man's  appearance,  asked  with  sudden 
sharpness : 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?     What  has  happened  ?  " 

The  young  man,  his  wild  regard  fastened  on  the  Chief, 
tried  to  answer;  but  he  was  incapable  of  speech,  and  the 
effort  resulted 'only  in  a  queer,  gasping  sound. 

With  the  directness  of  a  man  accustomed  to  prompt 
action,  the  Chief  of  Police  opened  his  door  once  more,  and 
guided  the  young  man  into  the  smaller  room  beyond.  The 
visitor,  dazed  by  his  emotions  and  unable  to  respond  to  any 
suggestion  less  forceful  than  the  actual  pressure  of  the  per- 
suasive hand  on  his  arm,  probably  would  have  remained 
indefinitely  motionless  on  the  threshold  before  any  cus- 
tomary invitation  to  enter. 

The  Chief  struck  a  match  and  ignited  a  gas-jet  above  a 
big  roll-top  desk.  The  action,  simple  in  itself,  seemed  to 

[16] 


Exit  Serior  de  Sanchez 

loose  the  young  man's  faculty  of  speech;  just  as  the  official 
turned,  he  darted  suddenly  forward,  grasped  the  other's 
arm,  and  began  incontinently: 

"Murder!  Murder  has  been  done!"  The  words  had 
the  effect  of  a  cry,  although  uttered  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"Murder,  I  tell  you.  Come  with  me  at  once;  don't 
delay. "  He  shook  the  Chief's  arm  excitedly,  and  strove 
to  draw  him  toward  the  door. 

"Hurry!    Hurry!    For  God's  sake,  hurry!" 

The  Chief  of  Police  easily  disengaged  his  imprisoned 
arm. 

"  There,  there  ....  sit  down  there,"  said  he,  in  a  tone 
he  might  have  used  to  calm  a  terrified  child.  "You  are 
upset.  Sit  there  a  while  and  try  to  collect  yourself.  Come; 
make  an  effort.  Pull  yourself  together  and  tell  me  about  it." 

"But  the  murderer!"  the  young  man  went  on,  still  with 
high  excitement,  but  unconsciously  sinking  back  into  the 
chair  under  the  gentle  pressure  of  the  Chief's  hand.  "  The 
murderer  will  escape!  Great  Heavens,  man!  even  now 
he  may  be  assaulting  the  doctor  —  Mobley  —  do  you  hear 
me  ?  —  he  may  have  killed  him !  Send  officers  —  go  your- 
self —  anything  but  to  sit  here  idle.  Come ! "  He  made 
as  if  to  rise  again;  but  the  other  pressed  him  back. 

"Steady,"  said  the  Chief  quietly.  "Mobley?  Do  you 
mean  Doctor  Mobley  Westbrook?  Has  he  been  mur- 
dered?" 

"  No-no-no,"  in  a  burst  of  exasperation.  "  It  was  —  it 
was  —  I  mean  —  good  God,  what  do  I  mean  ?  It  —  it 
happened  in  his  office." 

The  Chief  regarded  him  for  a  moment  with  eyes  that 
were  mere  pin-points  of  light. 

[17] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"You  are  Mr.  J.  Howard  Lynden,  are  you  not?"  he 
presently  asked.  The  other  nodded  a  quick  affirmative. 
"I  thought  so,"  he  continued.  "Who  is  the  murderer? 
Who  has  been  murdered  ?  —  or  has  any  murder  been  done  ? 
You  don't  make  yourself  clear." 

Lynden  twisted  nervously  upon  his  chair.  "Heavens! 
you  do  not  doubt  me  ? "  he  cried.  "  Why,  Mobley's  office 
is  like  a  shambles.  It 's  horrible !  —  horrible !  Mobley  - 
Doctor  Westbrook,  that  is  —  was  standing  right  over  the 
dying  man  with  —  with  —  "  He  checked  himself  abrupt- 
ly, as  an  expression  of  horror  deepened  in  his  pale  counte- 
nance. 

Since  the  introduction  of  Doctor  Mobley  Westbrook's 
name,  the  Chief  of  Police  was  paying  closer  attention  to 
the  incoherent  recital ;  he  regarded  the  young  man  gravely, 
and  evidently  concluded  that  the  situation  was  serious 
enough  to  warrant  some  initiative  on  his  own  part.  He 
was  accustomed  to  panic-stricken  people  who  intruded 
thus  unceremoniously  upon  him,  and  experience  had  taught 
him  that,  oftener  than  not,  the  circumstances  were  far 
from  warranting  the  excitement. 

Concerning  his  present  visitor,  he  was  aware,  in  a  general 
way,  that  the  young  man  was  well  known  about  town,  the 
inheritor  of  a  considerable  fortune  from  his  father,  and  that 
his  name  figured  prominently  as  a  leader  of  cotillons,  on  the 
links  of  the  Country  Club,  and  among  the  names  of  the 
many  others  who  formed  the  society  set  of  the  city. 

But  all  these  qualifications  did  not  supply  the  force 
so  conspicuously  absent  from  Mr.  Lynden's  personality, 
lacking  which  his  perturbation  was  not  very  impressive. 
He  was  not  at  all  bad  looking:  he  was  even  handsome 

[18] 


Exit  Senor  de  Sanchez 

in  a  way;  but  the  Chief  of  Police,  as  he  looked,  could  not 
help  remarking  that  a  more  resolute  man  would  have  been 
less  the  slave  of  his  emotions  in  a  situation  like  the  present. 
While  the  young  man  sat  drumming  with  nervous  fingers  on 
the  arms  of  his  chair,  the  Chief  pressed  a  button  beneath 
his  desk,  whereupon  the  door  was  almost  immediately 
opened  by  an  officer,  who,  without  entering,  respectfully 
awaited  his  superior's  commands. 

To  him  the  Chief  said,  "  If  Converse  is  in,  tell  him  to 
come  to  my  office;"  and  as  the  door  closed,  "I  want  Cap- 
tain Converse  to  hear  this,"  he  explained  to  Lynden;  "it 
seems  to  be  a  matter  for  his  department." 

The  two  had  not  long  to  wait.  A  man  entered,  cast  a 
piercing  glance  at  the  visitor,  and  took  his  stand  at  a  corner 
of  the  roll-top  desk,  waiting  with  an  air  of  deferential  at- 
tention. He  was  a  man  of  physique  so  immense  —  with 
such  a  breadth  of  shoulders  and  absence  of  neck  —  that  his 
more  than  average  height  was  much  disguised.  Above 
all,  he  was  one  whose  appearance  must  attract  attention  in 
any  gathering  of  his  kind;  for  even  as  Lynden  seemed  to 
lack  those  desirable  traits,  so  force  and  resolution  flowed 
from  this  man's  rugged  personality,  making  their  influence 
felt  subtly  and  insistently.  His  air  of  quiet  composure  was 
evocative  of  confidence.  Endowed  with  the  impassive- 
ness  of  an  Indian,  one  could  hardly  imagine  him  excited 
or  agitated  in  any  circumstances. 

The  Chief  recognized  his  presence  with  a  brief  nod, 
and  at  once  addressed  Lynden : 

"Repeat  what  you  have  told  me;  see  if  you  can't  make 
it  plainer." 

The  visitor  recounted  the  bare  facts  in  a  more  connected 

[19] 


The  Silver  Blade 

manner.  "  But  I  was  so  shocked,"  he  supplemented,  "  that 
I  am  afraid  I  can't  make  myself  intelligible.  The  facts 
explain  nothing  to  my  mind  further  than  that  an  atrocious 
murder  has  been  committed,  that  the  victim  is  still  lying 
in  Doctor  Westbrook's  office,  and  that  no  one  seems  to 
know  who  is  responsible  for  the  deed." 

"You  say  the  man  was  stabbed?"  queried  the  Chief. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply;    "stabbed  in  the  throat." 

"But  I  fail  to  understand,"  the  Chief  frowned.  "Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  a  man  was  stabbed  in  the  presence 
of  Doctor  Westbrook,  and  that  he  knows  nothing  about  it  ? " 

"  No  —  no.  It  seems  to  have  occurred  in  the  hall  just 
outside  Mobley's  door;  the  man  fell  through  the  door  into 
the  office,  Mobley  said.  I  don't  know  —  I  am  so  con- 
fused." Which  last  statement  he  confirmed  by  at  once  be- 
coming involved  in  a  wild  incoherency  of  utterance. 

After  he  had  quieted  somewhat,  he  sat  trembling  for  a 
moment,  suddenly  bursting  forth  again : 

"Wait!"  he  cried,  his  face  lighting.  "I  forgot  to  say 
there  was  another  man  present  in  Doctor  Westbrook's 
office  —  a  stranger  to  me.  I  never  saw  him  before." 

"And  he?" 

"  Just  like  Mobley  and  myself,  he  appeared  to  be  over- 
come by  the  shocking  occurrence." 

The  Chief  of  Police  plainly  showed  his  perplexity. 
"  According  to  your  statement  —  the  man  who  was  killed  — 
will  you  repeat  his  name  ?  " 

"De  Sanchez.  General  Westbrook's  friend,  Alberto  de 
Sanchez." 

"According  to  your  statement  he  was  bleeding  pro- 
fusely. Had  the  weapon  been  withdrawn  from  the  wound  ?  " 

[20] 


Exit  Senor  de  Sanchez 

The  young  man  evinced  unaccountable  hesitancy.  He 
moved  uneasily,  and  glanced  from  his  questioner  to  the 
impassive  figure  standing  at  a  corner  of  the  desk.  This 
man,  called  Converse,  had  taken  no  part  in  the  talk;  he 
stood  silent  and  motionless,  seemingly  paying  no  heed  to 
what  was  going  forward;  but  now  he  shot  a  swift  glance 
at  Lynden,  whose  nervousness  measurably  increased.  That 
look  was  remarkable  in  a  way:  the  eyes,  steely  gray,  were 
in  themselves  without  expression;  they  failed,  however, 
to  veil  an  intentness  and  concentration  of  mind  which 
disclosed  beyond  a  doubt  that  their  owner  was  abnormally 
alive  to  every  detail  of  speech  and  manner;  they  could  not 
hide  a  power  of  will  lying  behind  their  quick  regard, 
which  mocked  deception,  and  Mr.  Lynden  shuddered.  In- 
stantly the  brief  glance  was  withdrawn;  but  the  young 
man,  if  such  had  been  his  intention,  attempted  no  liberties 
with  the  truth.  The  confusion  with  which  he  now  spoke, 
however,  suggested  strongly  that  the  thought  had  entered 
his  mind,  although  he  may  not  have  entertained  it  there. 

"I  —  I  —  I  would  rather  that  you,  or  some  officer, 
accompany  me  to  Mobley's  office,"  he  faltered.  "I  con- 
sider it  rather  unfair,  in  my  condition,  to  press  me  further. 
I  would  n't  for  the  world  present  anything  in  a  false  light. 
I  feel  that  the  situation  is  not  only  serious,  but  extremely 
delicate." 

"  It  is  that,"  the  Chief  agreed,  emphatically.  "  For  that 
very  reason  you  must  tell  all  you  know.  Now,  why  should 
you  hesitate  in  regard  to  the  weapon?  Come  now,  what 
about  it  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  I  answer  you  under  protest;  remember,  I 
did  not  see  the  blow  struck." 

[21] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Sure?" 

The  young  man  nearly  sprang  from  his  chair.  The 
interruption,  a  penetrating,  sibilant  bullet  of  speech,  came 
from  the  massive  figure  of  Mr.  Converse;  again  that  shrewd 
regard  was  fastened  on  him,  and  the  sweat  started  from  his 
brow. 

"No!"  he  cried,  explosively;  "I  did  not.  By  George, 
how  nervous  I  am!  —  but  I  think  half-truths  should  not  be 
told.  No  one  is  less  capable  of  perpetrating  such  a  deed 
than  Mobley  Westbrook.  Why,  you  know  the  man!" 
He  appealed  with  feverish  eagerness  to  the  two  figures  now 
sternly  confronting  him.  "  Every  one  knows  Mobley  West- 
brook's  character;  would  he  do  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  But  come  to  the  point  —  come  to  the  point,  man ! " 
the  Chief  demanded,  rapping  sharply  upon  the  desk  with 
his  knuckles.  "  What  of  the  weapon  —  was  it  a  knife  — 
sword  —  axe  —  hatchet  ?  Where  was  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  Mobley  had  some  kind  of  a  —  blade,  a  —  dagger 
in  his  hand;  but  —  " 

"Ah!  And  standing  over  a  man  whose  very  life-blood 
is  ebbing  away  beneath  his  eyes!"  The  Chief's  manner 
was  politely  ironical,  and  struck  the  young  man  cold.  "  You 
must  admit  that  you  portray  an  astonishing  set  of  circum- 
stances to  surround  a  man  not  only  innocent  but  ignorant 
of  an  offence,"  concluded  the  official,  pointedly. 

Lynden  indeed  started  from  his  chair.  "I  knew  it! 
I  knew  it ! "  cried  he,  wildly.  "  I  knew  you  would  put  such 
a  construction  upon  my  words ;  now,  damn  it !  I  '11  not  say 
another  word.  Go  —  go!  Go  and  see  for  yourselves  how 
wrong  you  are ! " 

The  Chief  of  Police  ignored  this  vehement  advice.  In- 

[22] 


Exit  Senor  de  Sanchez 

stead,  he  curtly  admonished  Lynden  to  remain  a  few  mo- 
ments where  he  was ;  and  leaving  the  wretched  news-bearer 
alone  with  his  own  reflections,  he  and  Converse  withdrew 
from  the  room. 

After  a  minute  or  two  the  Chief  returned.  "I  have 
sent  for  a  carriage,"  said  he.  "As  soon  as  it  arrives  I  must 
request  you  to  accompany  Captain  Converse  to  Doctor 
Westbrook's  offices;  are  you  willing  to  do  that?"  He 
awaited  the  reply  with  an  interest  mingled  with  doubt  of 
what  its  probable  tenor  might  be;  when  the  young  man 
acquiesced  with  an  alacrity  and  relief  obviously  sincere, 
his  doubt  merely  grew.  He  contemplated  Lynden  an 
instant  longer,  and  with  a  curt  nod,  seated  himself  at  his 
desk  again. 

Almost  at  once,  however,  the  large  figure  of  the  Cap- 
tain —  or  plain  Mr.  Converse,  as  he  much  preferred  to  be 
known  —  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Come!"  he  whispered;  and  the  whisper  rasped  upon 
Lynden's  nerves.  Confound  the  man!  was  he  afraid  he 
would  betray  some  momentous  secret,  so  that  he  did  not 
talk  like  other  people?  Nevertheless,  he  arose  and  fol- 
lowed him, —  under  the  heavy  stone  arches,  shrouded  with 
gloom  in  the  flickering  gas-light,  out  into  the  cool  night  air 
and  into  a  waiting  hack.  Two  other  men  followed  close 
behind,  and  entered  a  second  hack;  immediately  the  two 
vehicles,  one  behind  the  other,  were  going  at  full  speed  in 
the  direction  of  Doctor  Westbrook's  offices. 

Under  the  soothing  influence  of  rubber  tires  spinning 
easily  over  the  smooth  asphalt,  the  young  man  was  fast 
regaining  his  lost  composure.  He  was  so  rapt  in  his  own 
thoughts  that  for  a  time  he  quite  forgot  his  still  companion, 

[23] 


The  Silver  Blade 

and  presently  he  laughed  —  mirthlessly,  but  a  laugh  signi- 
fying sudden  relief.  Quite  as  suddenly  it  was  checked,  as 
he  met  the  inquiring,  probing  glance  of  his  vis-a-vis. 

"It  is  astonishing  that  I  never  thought  of  it  before,"  he 
explained,  in  an  embarrassed  way.     "  That  other  man  — 
the  stranger  —  can  set  Mobley  right  in  an  instant.     Do 
you  think  Doctor  Westbrook  could  have  done  it  ?  " 

Immediately  he  regretted  the  question,  for  it  entailed 
hearkening  to  that  uncomfortable  hissing  voice.  It  was 
Mr.  Converse's  misfortune  that,  properly  speaking,  he  had 
no  voice  at  all.  His  entire  speech  was  a  series  of  sibilant 
utterances,  wonderfully  distinct  and  possessed  of  remark- 
able carrying  power  when  one  considered  their  quality. 
It  is  likely  that  he  was  sensitive  about  his  vocal  defect,  since 
he  was  known  as  a  silent,  taciturn  man  among  his  confreres. 
On  certain  rare  occasions,  however, —  under,  for  example, 
the  spur  of  an  inflexible  purpose  or  the  influence  of  a  sym- 
pathetic nature, —  it  was  also  known  that  he  could  wax 
eloquent;  his  forceful  individuality  supplied,  in  a  large 
measure,  the  place  of  a  normal,  flexible  voice. 

The  head  of  the  detective  department  might  have  been 
anywhere  between  forty  and  sixty  years  of  age,  so  far  as  one 
could  gather  from  his  huge  frame  and  stolid  countenance. 
His  hair  was  gray,  and  thinning  slightly  at  the  temples; 
but  behind  his  illegible  exterior  there  reposed  a  vigor 
and  a  reserve  of  power  —  revealed  now  and  then,  as  in  the 
lightning-like  glance  cast  at  Lynden  in  the  Chief's  office  — 
which  could  not  be  reconciled  with  age.  He  was,  in  fact, 
fifty-two. 

His  face  was  full  and  round,  smooth-shaven,  expression- 
less —  such  a  visage  as  one  associates  with  some  old  sea- 

[24] 


Exit  Senor  de  Sanchez 

dog;  a  countenance  that  has  long  been  subjected  to  the 
hardening  processes  of  wind  and  weather.  As  the  young 
man  waited  for  a  reply,  the  immovable  features  under- 
went a  curious  change;  the  mouth  gradually  assumed  a 
pucker,  as  though  the  facial  muscles  were  inelastic  and 
unused  to  such  exercise;  his  right  eyebrow  lifted,  which, 
as  the  other  remained  motionless,  was  made  all  the  more 
noticeable, —  the  effect  being  an  expression  of  inquiry  and 
speculation  that  seemed  ludicrously  out  of  place.  Lynden 
became  familiar  with  this  queer  transformation  later  on; 
he  learned  to  associate  it  with  the  futility  of  seeking  to 
penetrate  the  wall  of  reserve  which  ever  surrounded  this 
unusual  man,  and  perceived  that  it  came  and  went  as  a  sort 
of  involuntary  warning  to  place  least  trust  in  his  frankest 
confidences.  Now  it  introduced  the  response  to  his  question, 
"  Do  you  think  Doctor  Westbrook  could  have  done  it  ?  " 

"The  Doctor  is  a  strong,  vigorous  man,  isn't  he?  I 
don't  see  why  he  could  n't." 

"My  dear  sir,"  Lynden  anxiously  expostulated,  "you 
don't  know  Mobley  Westbrook,  or  you  never  could  enter- 
tain such  a  thought." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Converse,  carelessly,  "  the  thought 
seems  to  be  your  own;  I  was  simply  giving  you  the  first 
fact  that  occurred  to  me,  to  justify  your  opinion.  I  have 
formed  none  myself." 

"You  interpret  my  words  strangely." 

"No;  your  silence." 

The  young  man,  with  another  shudder,  drew  back  to 
the  corner  of  the  vehicle  farthest  from  his  companion. 

The  receding  lights  outside  followed  the  carriage  in 
squares  of  diminishing  illumination,  which,  shining  through 

[25] 


The  Silver  Blade 

the  window,  made  strange  play  of  light  and  shadow  over  that 
inscrutable  visage.  All  at  once  it  became  deeply  portentous 
to  Lynden;  as  if  by  sudden  divination  he  became  possessed 
of  a  conviction  that  it  was  destined  to  take  a  high  place 
in  his  affairs, —  signifying,  perhaps,  the  controlling  influence 
in  a  strange  drama,  the  first  scene  of  which  was  now  upon 
the  boards. 

"It  is  very  remarkable,"  the  Captain  mused,  presently, 
as  if  the  episode  were  too  much  for  him. 

Lynden  started  from  his  reverie. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  not  meeting  the  other's  eye. 
"Yes;  it  is  very  remarkable."  Both  lapsed  into  a  silence 
that  continued  until  the  end  of  the  ride. 

As  the  vehicle  proceeds,  a  few  words  about  those  whose 
names  have  been  mentioned,  together  with  some  others 
who  will  figure  in  this  narrative,  will  give  a  better  idea  of  the 
importance  of  the  tragedy,  the  ill  tidings  of  which  Lynden 
had  been  the  bearer. 

Both  by  reason  of  recognized  ability  in  his  profession  and 
of  his  high  family  connections,  Doctor  Mobley  Westbrook 
was  leader  of  the  medical  fraternity  in  the  city  of  his  birth  and 
residence.  He  was  still  youthful  in  spite  of  his  thirty-five 
years;  democratic  in  his  tastes,  immensely  popular  in  every 
class  of  society,  and  for  these  reasons  considerably  at  odds 
with  his  father. 

Notwithstanding  his  popularity,  his  single  excursion 
into  politics  had  only  shown  his  unfitness  for  the  national 
game;  a  circumstance  mentioned  here  because  later  on  he 
is  to  have  it  brought  back  to  him  in  a  manner  both  forcible 
and  disagreeable. 

Singularly  enough, —  for  from  another  and  altogether 

[26] 


Exit  Senor  de  Sanchez 

different  sentiment  the  General  himself  was  popular, — 
General  Westbrook  was  known  to  hold  his  son  in  some  dis- 
favor because  he  was  so  well  and  universally  esteemed. 
His  exclusive  nature  could  not  brook  the  physician's  demo- 
cratic inclinations;  it  made  the  latter  an  alien.  The 
General  did  not  understand  it,  and  what  he  could  not  under- 
stand he  disliked. 

The  two  personalities  were  remarkably  divergent  in  every 
way.  General  Peyton  Westbrook  was  an  exaggerated  type 
of  the  old-school  Southern  gentleman.  Strikingly  hand- 
some, elegant  in  appearance,  his  erect  and  rigid  bearing, 
together  with  a  falcon-like  glance  suggested  a  stature 
which  one  in  describing  would  be  likely  to  pronounce  tall 
when  in  reality  it  was  not  much  over  five  feet.  His 
graceful  slenderness  added  considerably  to  the  illusion. 
His  hair  was  white,  his  features  cameo-like  —  aristo- 
cratic, and  stamped  with  the  overweening  family  pride, 
to  which,  with  him,  every  other  human  emotion  was  sub- 
servient. 

It  is  probable  that  his  presence  and  name  were  better 
known  in  every  part  of  the  State  than  those  of  any  other 
living  man.  For  the  class  which  he  represented  was  that 
noble  body  of  patricians  —  handsome  and  recklessly  brave 
men,  and  beautiful,  high-minded  women  —  who  have  given 
the  world  criterions  by  which  human  excellence  and  human 
weakness  alike  may  be  measured;  and  his  position  was  a 
personal  hobby,  persistently  and  consistently  ridden. 

Of  his  standing  he  was  perhaps  pardonably  proud.  Be- 
sides his  social  position  and  that  of  his  wife,  who  had  been 
a  Shepardson,  and  of  his  lovely  daughter,  Joyce,  he  had 
fought  gallantly,  if  not  brilliantly,  through  the  war  between 

[27] 


The  Silver  Blade 

the  States;  but  he  was  just  narrow-minded  enough  to  al- 
low his  pride  and  egoism  to  exclude  the  rest  of  humanity. 

There  was  but  one  uniting  link  between  Mobley  and  his 
father  and  mother  —  the  latter  even  more  distant  and 
unapproachable  than  her  spouse  —  and  that  was  the  daugh- 
ter and  sister,  Joyce.  Whatever  their  differences,  the 
family  was  held  together  by  affection  for  this  beautiful  girl. 

The  love  that  bound  Joyce  and  Mobley  was  deep  and 
abiding.  It  is  not  surprising,  then,  when  the  question  of 
his  sister's  marriage  became  gossip,  that  Mobley  should 
have  taken  a  stand  on  the  subject  which  brought  about  a 
final  and  complete  rupture  from  his  father  and  mother. 
The  name  with  which  his  sister's  had  been  linked  was  no 
other  than  that  of  this  same  Alberto  de  Sanchez,  who  now 
lay  dead,  with  a  ghastly  knife-wound  in  his  throat,  in  the 
Doctor's  own  office. 

James  Howard  Lynden  —  or  "  Jim,"  as  Doctor  Westbrook 
called  him  —  had  long  been  on  intimate  terms  with  the 
Westbrook  family.  And  it  was  he  who  now  accompanied 
the  silent  Mr.  Converse  through  a  small  but  curious  group 
gathered  about  the  entrance  leading  to  the  Doctor's  office; 
the  first  stage  of  an  intermingling  of  interests  widely  diverse; 
the  bringing  together  of  lives  as  far  asunder  as  the  stars. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  FIRST  PROBLEM  DEVELOPS 

DOCTOR  WESTBROOK'S  offices  were  in  the  Net- 
tleton  Building  in  Court  Street.  It  and  its  neigh- 
bor on  the  east,  the  Field  Building,  were  of  that 
solid  old  style  of  structure  devoted  to  business,  which 
knew  not  the  elevator  nor  steam  heat,  nor  any  of  the 
many  devices  that  enter  into  the  complexities,  and  often 
questionable  conveniences,  of  the  modern  office  edifice. 
They  were  riot,  and  never  had  been,  of  an  imposing  ap- 
pearance, boasting  as  they  did  only  three  stories;  but  they 
were  nevertheless  the  blue-bloods  among  the  city's  com- 
mercial houses,  preserving  their  exclusive  position  amidst 
the  newer  generation  of  garish  sky-scrapers  which  rudely 
intercepted  the  vision  on  every  hand. 

The  occupants  of  these  monuments  of  the  old  regime 
were  in  full  accord  with  their  habitations, —  solid,  conser- 
vative, and  even  aristocratic.  As  often  as  not  a  modest 
sign  —  if  it  could  be  deciphered  at  all  —  notified  the  visitor 
that  behind  certain  doors  could  be  found  "Harvey  Nettle- 
ton,  Estate  of,"  or,  "  Richard  Fairchild,  Estate  of,"  or  some 
name  equally  well  known,  and  associated  with  a  glory  that 
had  departed.  In  most  instances,  well  might  the  present 
owners  of  those  family  names  cry  "  Ichabod ! "  for  they  had 
long  since  ceased  to  have  any  interest  in  the  estates  other 
than  the  shadowy  interests  which  lie  in  memories  and  vain 
regrets. 

[29] 


The  Silver  Blade 

As  Mr.  Lynden  and  his  taciturn  companion  passed 
through  the  Nettleton  Building  entrance,  where  the  curious 
little  throng  was  restrained  by  the  presence  of  a  couple  of 
mute  policemen,  the  Captain's  entire  manner  underwent 
a  complete  and  sudden  transformation;  his  expressionless 
countenance  remained  wooden,  but  into  his  eyes  there 
arrived  an  intentness  and  brightness  entirely  absent  from 
them  before;  his  rather  lethargic  and  apparently  purposeless 
movements  giving  way  to  a  brisk  mode  of  proceeding  which 
one  would  hardly  have  expected  from  his  cumbrous  frame. 
His  demeanor  was  become  at  once  alert  and  wary,  and  he 
had  little  to  say  to  Lynden. 

It  was  now  night  outside,  and  the  stairs  were  faintly 
illuminated  by  the  single  incandescent  lamp  which  hung 
at  their  head  in  the  hall  of  the  second  story.  The  sole 
indication  that  Mr.  Converse  was  striving  to  allow  nothing 
to  escape  his  observation  was  the  quickness  with  which  he 
stooped,  when  near  the  top,  and  picked  something  from  the 
stairs  —  something  too  small  for  Lynden  to  catch  even  a 
glimpse  of  —  which,  whatever  it  was,  the  Captain  scrutinized 
intently  a  moment,  and,  without  comment,  dropped  into  the 
large  pocket-book  he  brought  forth  from  an  inside  pocket. 
The  two  continued  on  their  way  until  they  reached  Doctor 
Westbrook's  office. 

Everything  was  as  Lynden  had  left  it,  save  for  the  fact 
that  Doctor  Westbrook,  and  the  stranger  mentioned  by  the 
young  man,  had  been  joined  by  several  other  persons. 

One  was  a  swarthy,  lean  man,  whose  face  was  pitted  by 
small-pox,  and  whose  rather  dull  eyes  remained  expression- 
less behind  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed  pince-nez.  He  was 
standing  aloof  from  the  others,  and  seemed  to  be  taking 

[30] 


The  First  Problem  Develops 

only  languid  interest  in  what  was  going  forward.  Occa- 
sionally he  coughed  in  a  manner  that  told  much  to  the 
physician's  trained  ear;  save  for  this,  he  remained  silent. 
Mr.  Merkel,  the  coroner,  and  a  uniformed  policeman  were 
also  present. 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Merkel  to  Converse  as  he  and  his 
companion  appeared.  "  So  they  have  sent  you,  have  they  ? 
How  fortunate!  how  exceedingly  fortunate!  This,  gentle- 
men," he  continued,  addressing  the  other  occupants  of  the 
room,  "is  Captain  Converse.  He  will  pardon  me,  I  know, 
if  I  add  —  the  great  detective.  Nothing  has  been  disturbed, 
Captain,  nothing  has  been  disturbed.  You  will  find  every- 
thing just  as  I  did.  It  is  a  bad  business,  a  bad  business." 

Mr.  Merkel  was  fussy,  important,  and  wholly  incom- 
petent; and  the  Captain  was  so  accustomed  to  his  repeti- 
tions of  phrases  that  were  not,  to  say  the  least,  pregnant 
with  meaning,  that  he  ignored  them  and  turned  to  an  in- 
spection of  the  dead  man. 

The  body  lay  just  as  it  had  fallen.  Somebody  had  placed 
a  handkerchief  over  the  face,  a  covering  that  also  hid  an  ugly 
wound  in  the  throat.  Mr.  Converse  stooped  and  removed 
this,  and  began  a  minute  but  rapid  examination  of  the  still 
form.  It  reposed  in  the  Doctor's  reception-room,  close  to 
the  wall,  partially  on  its  back  and  partially  on  its  right  side. 
The  right  arm  was  extended,  the  fingers  of  that  hand  still 
in  a  position  as  though  upon  the  point  of  grasping  something. 
Curved  naturally  across  the  breast,  the  left  arm  suggested 
restful  slumber  rather  than  death  by  violence;  but  what- 
ever the  eyes  had  last  looked  upon,  before  the  film  dimmed 
their  lustre,  it  had  stamped  upon  the  handsome  features  an 
indelible  expression  of  mingled  terror  and  horror,  which  one 

[31] 


The  Silver  Blade 

could  scarcely  regard  without  an  inward  tremor  of  something 
very  like  fear.  It  was  an  expression  likely  to  remain  dis- 
agreeably in  the  memory  for  a  long  time. 

A  search  of  the  dead  man's  pockets  revealed  nothing 
unusual,  except  that,  in  a  petty  way,  he  had  been  a  violator 
of  the  law ;  for  the  first  thing  Mr.  Converse  drew  forth  was 
a  nickel-plated,  pearl-handled  revolver  of  32-caliber.  The 
remainder  consisted  of  a  number  of  letters,  all  relating  to 
business  matters;  two  long  envelopes,  evidently  but  recently 
sealed,  and  addressed  simply,  "  El  Senor  Juan  de  Vargas  ";  a 
purse  containing  money;  a  gold  watch;  a  fountain  pen,  and 
pencil;  two  memorandum  books;  a  silver  match-box;  a 
pouch  of  dark  tobacco,  and  brown  cigarette  papers;  a  hand- 
kerchief; a  penknife;  a  bunch  of  keys, —  these  were  all. 

When  these  effects  were  inventoried,  while  Mr.  Merkel 
was  assorting  them  at  Doctor  Westbrook's  writing-table, 
the  dark  man  with  the  pince-nez  stepped  forward.  All 
eyes  were  turned  toward  him,  excepting,  apparently,  those 
of  Converse,  which  continued  to  give  the  body  and  the 
reception-room  floor  their  attention. 

"Pardon,  senores,"  said  the  dark  man,  bestowing  a  bow 
upon  the  entire  group,  and  ending  it  at  the  Coroner;  "is 
there  anything  addressed  to  Juan  Vargas,  or  Juan  de  Vargas  ? 
I  am  he." 

Mr.  Merkel  looked  at  him  sternly,  and  held  up  the  two 
long  envelopes. 

"  I  see  the  name  of  Vargas  —  er  —  ah  —  inscribed  on 
these.  Are  you  Mr.  Vargas  ?  " 

The  other  remained  unmoved,  replying  simply,  "I  am 
Juan  de  Vargas." 

"What  connection  have  you  with  the  deceased  gentle- 

[321 


The  First  Problem  Develops 

man?"  continued  the  Coroner,  without  relaxing  in  the 
least  the  sternness  of  his  look.  "Can  you  tell  us  anything 
of  this  affair?" 

Senor  de  Vargas  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Nothing, 
senores;  I  lament  that  I  cannot.  The  contents  of  the  en- 
velopes should  tell  you  about  the  extent  of  our  connection; 
they  contain  but  a  deed,  some  shares  of  stock,  no  more. 
Senor  de  Sanchez  would  have  delivered  them  to  me  to-night. 
Open  them  by  all  means." 

The  man's  eyes,  dull  and  unmoving,  continued  to  regard 
Mr.  Merkel.  Had  he  been  discussing  the  weather  his  tones 
could  have  been  no  more  dispassionate. 

The  Coroner  tore  open  the  envelopes,  and,  as  the  man 
had  said,  one  contained  a  deed,  conveying  certain  land  to 
Juan  Sebastian  de  Vargas  y  Escolado,  the  notary's  certi- 
ficate showing  it  had  been  signed  and  acknowledged  that 
very  day  before  Clay  Fairchild.  Alberto  de  Sanchez  had 
made  the  transfer.  The  other  envelope  disclosed  a  certi- 
ficate for  one  thousand  shares  of  stock  in  the  Paquita  Gold 
Mining  and  Milling  Company,  also  made  over  to  Senor 
Vargas  in  due  form.  The  papers  told  no  more. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Senor  de  Vargas.  "We  agreed 
yesterday,  and  I  have  made  the  first  payment  of  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  myself  and  associates.  I  was  but  awaiting  the 
deed  and  the  stock." 

At  this  juncture  Doctor  Westbrook  interposed: 

"I  happen  to  know  that  this  gentleman  is  Senor  de 
Vargas,"  said  he.  "  He  called  here  with  —  with  Senor  de 
Sanchez  last  evening.  I  have  heard  something  of  this  deal 
between  the  two,  and  I  believe  it  represents  the  occasion  of 
this  gentleman's  presence  in  the  city  at  this  time." 

[33] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Senor  de  Vargas  acknowledged  this  speech  with  a  grave 
"  Gracias,  senor."  Turning  to  Mr.  Merkel  again,  "  I  hope 
there  will  not  be  much  delay  ?  "  he  queried,  mildly,  with  a 
certain  precision  of  enunciation  that  alone  marked  him  of 
an  un-English-speaking  race. 

Since  he  had  comprehended  the  magnitude  of  the  transac- 
tion as  disclosed  by  the  deed  and  certificates,  and  after 
Doctor  Westbrook's  interposition,  the  Coroner's  manner 
toward  the  Mexican  had  noticeably  altered. 

"No  more  than  necessary,"  he  replied  deferentially; 
"  no  more  than  necessary,  sir.  I  am  sorry,  but  these  papers 
will  have  to  remain  among  the  deceased's  other  effects  until 
after  the  inquest,  anyhow.  Mr.  Mountjoy,  our  district 
attorney,  is  the  proper  authority  for  you  to  see." 

"Good!"  returned  the  Mexican.  "I  desire  not  for  my 
humble  affairs  to  stand  in  the  path  of  justice."  Bowing 
once  more,  he  returned  to  his  former  position  away  from 
the  others. 

Converse  suddenly  passed  over  to  the  Coroner,  and  laid 
a  bloody  dagger  upon  the  table.  Its  silver  blade,  crimsoned 
in  part,  was  grewsome  and  startling  beneath  the  bright  glare 
of  the  shaded  incandescent  lamp.  Mr.  Merkel  involuntarily 
drew  back  his  hands,  the  strange  gentleman  who  had  been 
with  the  Doctor  since  the  tragedy  visibly  shuddered,  and 
for  an  instant  —  the  smallest  portion  of  a  second  —  the 
dull  eyes  of  Senor  Vargas  took  on  a  strange  light,  as  though 
the  pupils  had  all  at  once  distended,  allowing  a  glimpse 
to  the  uttermost  depths,  then  became  dull  again.  It  was  like 
the  abrupt  opening  and  closing  of  a  shutter.  Otherwise 
his  features  did  not  change,  nor  did  he  move.  The  more 
phlegmatic  policeman  looked  upon  the  little  weapon  without 

[34] 


The  First  Problem  Develops 

apparent  emotion;  the  Doctor  and  Howard  Lynden  with 
none  at  all. 

However,  as  the  Captain  placed  it  upon  the  table  his 
eyes  took  in  every  occupant  of  the  room  in  one  rapid  sweep- 
ing glance,  only  to  drop  as  he  stooped  and  whispered  to  the 
Coroner,  who  there  upon  nodded  and  turned  to  the  waiting 
group. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "this  is  not  the  inquest,  of 
course;  but  let  us  hear  what  you  have  to  say  about  this. 
You  first,  Doctor  Westbrook;  you  first." 

"  What  I  can  tell  you  will  seem  much  less  than  it  should," 
the  Doctor  returned.  "It  was  about  five  o'clock,  and  I 
was  sitting  at  my  table  —  there,  where  you  are  now.  I  had 
just  finished  a  letter  to  no  other  than  Senor  de  Sanchez 
himself. " 

"  Is  this  it  ?  "  the  Coroner  interrupted,  extending  a  letter 
to  the  speaker.  Doctor  Westbrook  replied  affirmatively, 
and  proceeded  with  his  recital. 

"  I  had  just  completed  and  blotted  it,  and  was  preparing 
to  address  the  envelope,  when  I  heard  footsteps  in  the  hall. 
I  paused,  with  the  pen  in  my  hand,  and  listened,  for  I  was 
expecting  Senor  de  Sanchez  to  call  at  my  office  this  evening, 
though  not  so  early,  and  I  imagined  the  footsteps  might  be 
his.  As  I  listened,  I  noted  that  my  door  was  not  quite  shut, 
and  the  footfalls  advanced  steadily  down  the  hall,  approach- 
ing my  office.  When  immediately  outside  the  door,  and 
while  I  was  looking  up  expectant  of  the  caller's  entrance, 
they  ceased  abruptly.  There  was  a  slight  sound  of  scraping 
on  the  floor  of  the  hall,  as  though  the  man  —  whom  I  could 
not  then  see  —  were  endeavoring  to  rub  something  from 
his  shoe-sole  on  the  boards,  or  had  slipped  slightly; 

[35] 


The  Silver  Blade 

without  the  slightest  warning,  his  whole  weight  plunged 
against  the  door.  It  was  thrown  violently  open  by  the 
impact,  and  I  was  horrified  to  behold  Senor  de  Sanchez 
stagger  through,  his  right  hand  extended  in  front  of  him, 
as  if  groping  for  support.  As  he  crossed  the  threshold  he 
lurched  to  his  right  and  struck  the  wall,  along  which  he  slid 
to  the  floor,  just  as  you  now  see  him." 

During  his  relation  of  these  particulars,  the  Doctor's 
manner  was  perfectly  cool  and  collected.  The  next  incident 
fairly  electrified  his  intent  listeners. 

"As  he  was  falling,"  he  continued,  "I  noticed  the  dag- 
ger handle  protruding  from  the  left  side  of  his  throat." 

"Is  this  the  one?" 

It  was  Converse's  sibilant  whisper  which  now  rudely 
broke  into  the  recital.  At  the  same  time  he  thrust  the  silver 
blade  close  to  the  other's  face. 

Doctor  Westbrook  at  first  merely  glanced  at  the  weapon ; 
but  something  about  it  evidently  caught  and  held  his  atten- 
tion, and  an  emotion  vastly  different  from  mere  recognition 
overspread  his  countenance;  it  was  astonishment,  pure  and 
simple. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  he  gasped,  in  extreme  amaze- 
ment ;  "  that  is  mine  —  my  paper-knife  —  and  I  did  not 
recognize  it!  What  does  this  mean  ? "  He  sat  with  his  eyes 
glued  upon  it,  the  centre  of  a  dumfounded  group.  The 
Captain  continued  a  moment  to  hold  it  forward,  his  gaze 
fixed  inscrutably  upon  the  physician's  puzzled  and  be- 
wildered countenance. 

Presently  Converse  drew  the  weapon  slowly  back  again, 
and  replaced  it  upon  the  table. 

"  So  that  is  yours  ?  "  the  Coroner  soberly  asked. 

[36] 


The  First  Problem  Develops 

"It  is,"  replied  the  Doctor;  "and  I  did  not  recognize  it 
until  this  minute.  How  did  it  —  why  —  he  began 
vaguely;  but  Merkel  interrupted. 

"Well,"  said  he,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  that  seemed  to 
dispose  of  all  complications,  "it  will  be  time  enough  for 
questions  when  you  have  finished." 

"  De  Sanchez  was  falling,"  resumed  the  Doctor  after  a 
moment's  reflection,  "when  I  noticed  the  dagger  handle. 
The  body  had  scarcely  touched  the  floor  before  I  had 
stooped  and  wrenched  the  blade  from  the  wound.  It  did 
not  come  easily;  it  required  a  severe  tug  to  loosen  it,  and 
the  withdrawal  of  the  blade  was  followed  by  such  a  gush 
of  blood  that  I  knew  some  important  artery  must  be  severed. 
The  man's  death  was  practically  instantaneous.  After  I 
had  extracted  the  blade  I  had  no  time  to  render  him  any 
further  service ;  I  simply  stood  dumf ounded  until  Jim  — 
Mr.  Lynden  —  grasped  my  arm  and  shook  me." 

"But,  Doctor  Westbrook,"  insisted  Mr.  Merkel,  "was 
there  no  one  else  in  the  hall  ?  Did  you  hear  no  other  foot- 
steps ?  Did  n't  you  see  or  hear  some  one  else  when  the  door 
was  thrust  wide  open  ?  Surely  the  murderer  could  n't 
have  left  so  quickly  without  attracting  the  attention  of  some 
one  of  you.  It  is  simply  incredible."  He  grasped  the  arms 
of  his  chair,  leaning  forward  in  his  eagerness,  his  heavy 
countenance  overshadowed  with  perplexity. 

As  the  Doctor  started  to  reply,  Converse  glanced  sharply 
toward  him ;  when  Lynden's  name  was  presently  mentioned, 
shifting  his  scrutiny  to  that  gentleman. 

"  I  must  say  no  to  all  those  questions,"  was  the  Doctor's 
reply.  "I  saw  nobody  but  De  Sanchez.  I  heard  nothing 
but  his  footsteps,  and  the  noise  he  made  in  collapsing  through 

[37] 


The  Silver  Blade 

this  door.  Ask  Jim  Lynden,  there;  he  was  in  the  hall  at 
the  time;  he  followed  so  closely  behind  De  Sanchez  that 
he  arrived  here  before  the  man  died." 

Lynden  merely  shook  his  head,  hopelessly,  as  if  he  had 
no  vocabulary  to  express  himself.  The  Coroner  was  im- 
pressed by  the  young  man's  mien,  and  after  regarding  him 
a  moment  with  a  scowl,  turned  again  to  Doctor  Westbrook. 

"  Was  any  one  else  present,  Doctor  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  physician's  face  was  suddenly  illumined. 

"Yes;  why,  certainly.  Howe!  "  he  exclaimed.  "Howe, 
where  were  you  ?  " 

The  man,  who  apparently  had  been  a  stranger  to  every- 
body in  the  room,  now  advanced. 

"  I  was  in  there  —  your  laboratory  —  looking  into  the 
light-well." 

Converse  noiselessly  disappeared  into  the  room  indicated, 
returning  in  a  few  seconds  to  eye  the  stranger  with  increased 
interest. 

"And  who  are  you,  if  I  may  ask?"  bluntly  demanded 
the  Coroner. 

"My  name  is  Ferdinand  Howe,  sir,"  the  stranger  re- 
plied, with  dignity.  "My  home  is  in  Bruceville,  Georgia, 
and  I  am  in  your  city  on  business  for  the  bank  of  which  I 
happen  to  be  the  cashier.  Doctor  Westbrook  and  I  are 
old  college-mates,  and  I  know  about  as  much  of  this  affair 
as  he  has  told  you;  that  is  to  say,  I  was  there  —  the  other 
side  of  that  partition  in  the  laboratory  —  when  the  murdered 
man  fell  where  you  now  see  him.  The  first  intimation  I 
had  that  anything  was  amiss  was  when  the  outside  door 
crashed  open  and  the  body  fell  to  the  floor.  I  ran  into 
this  room,  saw  the  man  gasp  twice,  and  then  lie  motionless. 

[38] 


The  First  Problem  Develops 

I  never  saw  him,  and  never  heard  of  him,  before  this  night. 
That  is  all." 

Mr.  Howe  appeared  to  be  about  the  Doctor's  age,  and 
was  a  fair  type  of  the  American  man  of  business.  He  was 
well  groomed,  clean,  and  possessed  of  a  clear,  steady  eye. 

"And  you  saw  and  heard  no  one  else?"  Mr.  Merkel 
persisted. 

Howe  shook  his  head.  "  No,  sir;  no  one.  There  was  not 
the  slightest  thing  to  indicate  — 

He  stopped.  He  shot  a  swift,  startled  glance  at  Doctor 
Westbrook ;  but  the  Doctor  remained  unconscious  of  it,  evi- 
dently absorbed  in  his  own  cogitations.  Mr.  Converse's 
eyes  watched  the  speaker  through  mere  slits,  so  nearly  closed 
were  they;  but  a  gleam  came  from  between  the  contracted 
lids  that  might  have  betrayed  a  quickened  interest  some- 
where in  the  depths  of  his  big  frame. 

"No,"  concluded  Howe  presently,  in  tones  measurably 
subdued;  "I  neither  saw  nor  heard  anybody  else,  but — " 
With  compressed  lips  he  indicated  by  a  nod  the  form  on  the 
floor.  "You  must  remember,"  he  concluded,  "I  was  in 
the  next  room,  looking  out  the  window  into  the  light- well." 

Converse  looked  quickly  from  the  speaker  to  Lynden. 
That  young  man  was  staring  strangely  at  Howe,  evidently 
impressed  by  something  unusual  in  his  concluding  words. 

Suddenly  the  young  man  caught  Converse's  intent  look, 
and  his  own  eyes  lowered.  Next  they  shifted  to  Doctor 
Westbrook,  at  whom  he  continued  to  look  in  a  moody 
silence. 

The  Coroner,  apparently  more  and  more  at  sea,  stared 
first  at  one  and  then  another  of  the  room's  occupants,  at 
the  partition  which  separated  the  reception-room  from  the 

[39] 


The  Silver  Blade 

laboratory,  and  lastly  through  the  open  doorway  into  the 
hall.  The  most  extreme  of  the  different  points  were  not 
over  six  feet  apart;  and  for  three  men  —  wide  awake  and  in 
full  possession  of  their  faculties  —  to  be  so  close  to  such  a 
crime  and  know  nothing  of  it  until  it  was  all  over!  How  could 
human  ingenuity  supply  an  explanation  for  so  incongruous 
a  circumstance?  Had  the  man  committed  suicide?  The 
most  cursory  examination  of  the  wound  demonstrated  be- 
yond doubt  that,  however  else  it  might  have  been  inflicted, 
Alberto  de  Sanchez  was  incapable  of  having  administered  it 
himself. 

Meanwhile  the  Captain  was  moving  from  one  to  another 
of  the  group,  his  whisper  barely  audible,  but  persistent  and 
pervading  the  entire  room.  Occasionally  he  made  a  brief 
memorandum  upon  an  envelope, —  cabalistic  marks  which 
no  one  but  himself  could  have  deciphered.  Then  the 
whisper  again  for  a  moment,  followed  by  a  deferential  lower- 
ing of  his  gray  head  as  he  hearkened  to  the  reply.  Had 
one  been  observing  him  closely  he  would  have  noticed  that 
the  circle  of  inquiry  gradually  narrowed.  The  policeman 
he  paid  no  attention  to  at  all;  he  was  soon  through  with 
Senor  Vargas;  but  from  Lynden  he  passed  to  Howe;  next 
to  Doctor  Westbrook;  and  from  one  to  another  of  the  last 
three,  as  a  word  from  one  suggested  a  new  inquiry  to  be 
asked  of  another.  His  movements  were  silent,  his  manner 
unobtrusive,  distracting  no  attention  from  Mr.  Merkel  and 
his  investigation.  Now  and  then  he  paused  and  stared 
contemplatively  into  vacancy  for  a  moment,  with  the  odd 
lifting  of  his  right  eyebrow,  and  with  his  mouth  thoughtfully 
pursed;  but  the  mask  of  his  countenance  told  nothing, 
and  only  once  did  he  include  the  whole  group  with  a  question. 

[401 


The  First  Problem  Develops 

It  was  after  he  had  been  whispering  quietly  for  some  minutes 
with  Howe. 

"  Who  can  give  me  young  Mr.  Fairchild's  address  ? 
You,  Doctor?"  he  asked. 

"  Clay  ?  "  Dr.  Westbrook  returned.  "  Yes.  It  is  close  to 
the  terminus  of  the  Washington  Heights  car  line.  The 
conductor  can  direct  you  to  it;  the  houses  are  not  num- 
bered out  there." 

Converse  nodded,  and  chose  a  slip  of  paper  from  the 
table.  After  looking  at  it,  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the 
other,  it  apparently  did  not  suit  his  purpose;  for  he  sub- 
jected another  bit  of  paper  to  a  similar  scrutiny  before  pen- 
cilling a  hurried  line  thereon,  although  he  did  not  replace 
the  first  slip.  The  note  he  handed  to  the  policeman  \vith  a 
whispered  word,  and  the  policeman  instantly  quitted  the 
room.  Had  one  still  been  observing  Mr.  Converse  he  would 
have  seen  him  abstractedly  place  the  first  bit  of  paper  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket. 

Well,  it  seemed  that  no  one  present  could  throw  additional 
light  upon  the  manner  of  Senor  de  Sanchez's  death.  Mr. 
Merkel  arose  from  his  chair  at  the  Doctor's  table,  and  looked 
a  pointed  inquiry  at  the  Captain,  who  responded  by  a  short 
negative  shake  of  his  head.  As  if  relieved  of  a  distasteful 
responsibility,  the  Coroner  said : 

"  Such  of  you  as  desire  to  go  may  do  so.  Captain  Con- 
verse and  I  will  have  to  look  about  a  bit.  He  must  have  an 
opportunity  to  apply  his  wonderful  skill,  gentlemen;  and 
you  will  all  be  notified  of  the  inquest;  you  will  be  duly 

notified Doctor  Westbrook,  I  will  send  a  wagon  for 

the  body,"  he  concluded.  "  Good-night,  gentlemen."  He 
turned  to  the  table  again,  and  to  a  contemplation  of  the 

[41] 


The  Silver  Blade 

dead  man's  personal  effects,  as  though  picking  out  an  answer 
to  this  latest  riddle  propounded  by  death. 

Whatever  of  restraint  had  been  upon  the  group,  it  was 
released  by  the  Coroner's  words,  and  each  member  showed 
it  in  his  own  way.  Ferdinand  Howe  instantly  advanced  to 
Doctor  Westbrook,  and,  smiling,  held  out  his  hand. 

"Well,  Mobley,"  said  he,  as  they  grasped  hands,  "this 
is  a  regrettable  affair.  It  has  been  a  shocking  interruption 
to  my  visit;  a  visit  which  I  now  suppose  will  be  indefinitely 
extended.  If  I  can  be  of  service,  don't  hesitate  to  call  upon 
me.  I  shall  be  at  the  hotel  any  time  I  am  wanted.  Good- 
night." And  he  quitted  the  room. 

Next,  Senor  Vargas  bowed  before  the  Doctor,  saying  in  a 
low,  conventional  tone: 

"  My  sympathies,  Senor  Doctor,  that  anything  so  deplor- 
able should  have  occurred  in  your  apartments."  He  turned 
to  the  Coroner: 

"Don  Alberto  was  a  fellow-countryman,"  he  went  on; 
"  he  had  many  relatives  and  friends,  by  whom  he  was  much 
beloved.  But  Mexico  is  far  away,  senor,  and  should  there 
be  any  delay  in  communicating  with  those  relatives  or  those 
friends,  it  is  I,  his  countryman,  upon  whom  you  should  call. 
Upon  my  own  responsibility  I  request  that  every  attention  be 
accorded  the  body,  and  that  no  expense  be  considered.  I 
also  will  be  at  —  what  you  call  la  posado?  —  the  'otel. 
I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy." 

His  departure  left,  besides  the  Captain  and  Mr.  Merkel, 
only  Howard  Lynden  and  the  Doctor;  as  the  door  closed 
behind  the  Mexican,  the  Doctor  said : 

"Now,  then,  we  here  are  all  about  equally  interested;  if 
you  have  any  idea  how  this  dreadful  crime  was  committed, 

[42] 


The  First  Problem  Develops 

pray  enlighten  us.  Surely  even  vulgar  curiosity  is  pardon- 
able under  the  circumstances."  He  looked  inquiringly  from 
the  Coroner  to  Mr.  Converse. 

The  latter  made  no  remark,  but  watched  the  Doctor 
steadily,  while  Mr.  Merkel  dubiously  shook  his  head,  and 
replied : 

"  It  seems  as  though  we  scarcely  had  made  a  beginning 
yet.  We  shall  be  obliged  to  go  much  farther,  Doctor  — 
much  farther." 

"I  will  begin  right  now,  then,"  Converse  whispered. 
"  Mr.  Lynden,  you  can  help  me  if  you  will." 

All  four  were  in  the  act  of  emerging  from  the  room,  when 
the  Captain,  as  though  an  idea  had  just  occurred  to  him, 
turned  suddenly  and  touched  Doctor  Westbrook  upon  the 
arm. 

"  By  the  way,  Doctor,"  he  whispered,  close  to  that  gentle- 
man's ear,  "  I  notice  you  have  several  penholders  on  your 
table;  are  you  particularly  partial  to  any  one  of  them? 
No,  no,  don't  stop;  go  on." 

The  Doctor  turned  a  surprised  visage  to  his  questioner. 

"Why,  yes,  since  you  have  mentioned  it.  I  always 
use  the  black  celluloid  holder.  Why  ?  " 

"It  is  just  an  idea  of  mine;  I  took  a  particular  fancy  to 

that  holder And  have  you  had  occasion  to  put  a  new 

point  in  it  lately  ?  " 

Doctor  Westbrook  now  did  stop.  He  frowned  heavily 
as  he  pondered  a  moment,  while  the  Captain  watched  him 
steadily. 

"Yes,"  he  presently  said.  "I  placed  a  new  pen-point 
in  it  this  evening.  I  found  the  other  broken  —  bent  — 
quite  useless." 

[43] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  Mr.  Converse  said,  hastily. 
"Good-night,  Doctor  Westbrook." 

While  the  Doctor  and  Mr.  Merkel  continued  on  out  of 
the  building,  Converse  devoted  his  attention  to  the  hall 
window  which  opened  into  the  light-well.  There  he  stood 
until  the  others  had  disappeared;  whereupon  he  and  Lynden 
reentered  the  Doctor's  office. 


[44] 


CHAPTER  III 

A  SEARCH  FOR  CLUES 

BY  running  a  board  partition  down  the  centre  of 
the  room  nearest  the  hall,  Doctor  Westbrook  had  by 
the  simplest  means  given  himself  a  place  of  reception; 
one  where  his  patients  could  wait  while  he  was  engaged 
in  the  room  overlooking  Court  Street,  there  being  still 
another  for  his  drugs  and  medicines. 

There  was  not  much  wasted  space  in  the  laboratory. 
Against  the  walls  stood  cases  filled  with  bottles  of  many 
sizes  and  colors,  and  other  cases  displaying  glittering,  sinister 
instruments ;  in  one  corner  stood  a  carboy  of  distilled  water, 
and  by  the  window,  opening  into  the  light-well,  stood  the 
table  where  the  Doctor  compounded  such  prescriptions  as 
he  did  not  send  to  a  regular  apothecary. 

The  light-well  opened  like  a  chasm  between  the  Field 
and  Nettleton  buildings;  its  bottom,  on  a  level  with  the 
second-story  floors,  was  of  heavy  semi-opaque  glass,  so  that 
such  rays  of  light  as  were  not  diverted  into  the  windows 
on  the  one  hand  or  the  other  found  a  way  to  the  shop  space 
on  the  ground  floor.  At  present  an  arc  lamp  beneath  this 
skylight  suffused  a  soft  and  mellow  radiance  throughout 
the  entire  light- well. 

Mr.  Converse  let  himself  down  to  a  narrow  ledge  bordering 
the  skylight,  and  with  an  injunction  to  the  young  man  to 
wait,  made  his  way  around  it  to  a  window  diagonally  op- 
posite, which  the  latter  recognized  as  belonging  to  the  offices 

[45] 


The  Silver  Blade 

of  Petty  &  Carlton,  attorneys,  in  the  Field  Building.  Here 
the  Captain  drew  himself  up  with  remarkable  agility,  and 
disappeared  through  the  window.  All  the  windows  letting 
into  the  light-well  were  open,  the  watcher  was  noticing, 
when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  Mr.  Converse's  sharp 
whisper. 

"Stand  where  you  are  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Lynden," 
said  he.  "I  want  to  experiment  a  bit,  and  I  shall  call 
on  you  for  a  report  presently." 

He  lowered  himself  to  the  ledge  again,  passed  over  to 
Nettleton  Building  side,  and  to  the  hall  window  of  the  latter. 
There  he  stooped  and  scrutinized  the  ledge  intently,  and  next 
the  window-sill;  after  which,  with  a  little  spring,  he  raised 
himself  to  the  window,  and  crawled  through  it  into  the  hall. 

A  sudden  quiet  fell,  —  a  quiet  unbroken  by  any  sound. 
Standing  there  alone  in  the  gloom,  one  undoubtedly  would 
have  been  impressed  by  the  blank,  staring  windows  that 
were  like  wide  and  lidless  eyes;  and  as  he  looked,  Lynden 
seemed  to  become  sensible  of  a  feeling  of  dread  at  the  awful- 
ness  of  the  crime  which  had  been  committed  so  near  at  hand, 
for  he  shuddered  visibly,  as  if  the  windows  had  some  purpose 
in  staring, —  as  if  they  were  in  reality  eyes  that  still  retained 
some  expression  of  their  horror  at  a  deed  witnessed  but  a 
moment  since. 

Noting  the  alacrity  with  which  Converse  let  his  heavy 
frame  in  and  out  of  windows,  a  spectator  might  fancy  it  an 
easy  matter  for  one  lurking  in  the  light-well  to  do  likewise, 
at  the  ripe  moment  strike  a  swift  blow,  and  then  leap  back 
again. 

But  whatever  the  current  of  Lynden's  meditations,  it 
was  abruptly  diverted.  He  fell  to  listening  intently.  The 

[46] 


A  Search  for  Clues 

door  between  the  hall  and  the  reception-room  was  being 
slowly  and  cautiously  opened;  still  slowly  and  with  an 
apparent  effort  to  occasion  no  betraying  noise,  some  one 
advanced  on  tiptoe  into  the  room.  The  young  man  faced 
deliberately  about  until  he  could  see  the  door  in  the  partition, 
and  waited.  Toward  it  the  almost  silent  footfalls  were 
moving;  presently  there  appeared  at  the  aperture  the  ex- 
pressionless face  of  Mr.  Converse,  who,  when  he  perceived 
Lynden's  startled  attitude,  gave  utterance  to  a  low  chuckle. 

"I  was  not  endeavoring  to  frighten  you,  Mr.  Lynden," 
said  he;  "I  was  simply  trying  a  little  experiment.  When 
did  you  first  hear  me  ?  " 

"  I  heard  the  door  open,  and  next,  you  tiptoeing  across  the 
room.  I  did  not  know  what  to  think."  He  was  pale  and 
trembling. 

"  Not  another  sound  ?  No  footsteps  in  the  hall  ?  Nothing 
of  that  kind  ?  " 

Lynden  shook  his  head.  "No;  the  first  thing  I  heard 
was  the  door  opening,"  he  repeated. 

"Well,"  continued  the  Captain,  reflectively,  pursing  his 
mouth,  and  lifting  his  right  eyebrow  at  the  young  man,  "  I 
don't  believe  anybody  could  have  made  less  noise  than  I 
did  in  there  " —  he  nodded  his  head  toward  the  partition  — 
"  nor  more  than  I  made  in  the  hall.  And  you  heard  nothing 
until  the  door  began  to  open  —  h-m-m ! "  He  looked  around 
the  laboratory, —  at  the  shelves  of  bottles,  at  the  partition 
not  reaching  quite  to  the  ceiling;  he  stepped  to  the  window, 
and,  leaning  out,  contemplated  the  hall  window.  "  It 's 
confoundedly  queer,"  he  concluded. 

"What  is?" 

"  WTiy,  the  way  noises  act  here.  You  know,  that  man  — 
[47] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Mr.  Ferdinand  Howe  —  was  standing  at  this  window,  and 
heard  nothing  in  the  hall.  I  almost  believe,  if  the  deceased 
had  been  shot  instead  of  stabbed  he  would  not  have  heard 

it But  let  us  have  a  look  at  the  other  side  of  the  hall. 

.  .  .  Let  me  see,"  he  went  on,  in  a  meditative  way,  "  Room 
4;  that  must  be  Mr.  Nettleton's  private  office;  as  my 
friend  Mr.  Follett  would  say, —  his  '  lair.'  He  has  no  use 
for  lawyers."  He  pushed  open  the  door  directly  opposite 
the  Doctor's  suite. 

The  room  was  large  and  had  three  windows  opening  into 
the  light-well.  Through  these  windows  sufficient  light 
from  the  arc  lamp  beneath  the  skylight  found  its  way  to 
cause  the  furnishings  to  loom  shadowy  and  ghost-like  in  a 
sort  of  feeble  twilight,  and  to  make  it  easy  to  find  an  incan- 
descent lamp,  which  Mr.  Converse  turned  on,  illuminating 
the  apartment  with  a  brighter  and  more  cheerful  radiance. 
He  surveyed  the  room,  and  looked  at  Lynden. 

"I  suppose,"  said  he,  "the  door  has  not  been  locked 
this  evening  ?  " 

The  young  man  merely  shook  his  head.  For  some  reason 
since  passing  to  this  side  of  the  hall,  he  had  become  strangely 
taciturn,  though  he  watched  the  Captain's  every  movement 
eagerly,  and  cast  many  furtive  glances  toward  the  denser 
shadows. 

Converse,  knelt  and  examined  the  floor  closely  on  either 
side  of  the  door.  Lynden's  nerves  were  at  such  a  tension 
that  he  actually  started  at  a  whispered  ejaculation  from  the 
Captain  as  he  picked  up  a  tiny  hairpin, —  the  kind  a  woman 
would  have  specified  as  "invisible." 

So,  then,  there  had  been  some  one  behind  this  door  — 
and  that  one  a  woman ! 

[48] 


A  Search  for  Clues 

Why  should  this  circumstance  affect  Lynden  so  strangely  ? 
for  it  would  seem  that,  in  the  undisturbed  stillness  of  these 
deserted  chambers,  there  was  a  potent,  disquieting  influence 
which  kept  him  in  a  qui  vive  of  nervous  expectancy, —  an 
invisible  something  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  filling  him 
with  an  apprehensive  dread.  It  was  really  remarkable 
that  his  observant  companion  did  not  notice  his  agitation; 
and  still  it  was  difficult  to  imagine  how  he  could,  for  he 
was  crossing  the  floor  in  a  crouching  attitude,  apparently 
directing  his  entire  attention  to  the  floor  with  a  concentra- 
tion that  permitted  no  individual  thread  of  the  heavy  carpet 
to  escape  his  earnest  scrutiny. 

Mr.  Nettleton  was  a  lawyer,  and  he  occupied  two  rooms, 
both  of  which  opened  directly  into  the  hall.  The  two  men 
were  now  in  the  one  that  the  lawyer  used  as  his  consulta- 
tion room,  and  the  course  being  pursued  by  Mr.  Converse 
would  soon  take  him  to  the  connecting  door  between  the 
two  offices.  Arriving  at  that  point,  he  stood  erect  and  paused 
a  moment,  plunged  in  thought.  He  said  nothing,  and 
seemingly  had  become  oblivious  of  his  companion's  attend- 
ance. 

Just  to  the  left  of  the  connecting  door,  and  in  the  general 
office,  stood  the  desk  occupied  during  business  hours  by 
Clay  Fairchild.  Above  this  desk  was  another  incandes- 
cent light,  which  the  Captain  lighted,  after  which  he  took 
up  whatever  trail  he  had  been  following  so  closely,  at  the 
exact  point  where  he  had  left  it,  continuing,  in  a  stooping 
posture,  to  the  hall  door  of  the  general  office.  From  the 
point  where  he  had  picked  up  the  hairpin,  immediately 
within  the  entrance  to  Room  4,  he  had  pursued  a  course 
away  from  the  hall,  through  the  connecting  door  to  Room  5, 

[49] 


The  Silver  Blade 

and  back  again  toward  the  hall  to  the  hall  entrance  of  the 
latter  room, —  the  whole  forming,  roughly,  an  arc,  the  chord 
of  which  was  the  hall. 

At  the  door  of  Room  5  he  stood  upright  once  more,  and 
the  young  man  became  aware  all  at  once  that  he  was  being 
eyed  quizzically. 

"Look!"  the  Captain  whispered.  Stooping  again,  he 
pointed  to  the  heavy  ply  of  the  moquette  carpet. 

For  a  moment  Lynden  could  descry  nothing  unusual; 
his  heart  was  thumping  in  a  manner  for  which  he  could 
assign  no  reason;  but  when  the  Captain  traced  an  outline 
with  his  thumbnail,  he  could  see  quite  distinctly  the  imprint 
of  a  small,  partial  footprint,  such  as  a  woman's  French 
heel  might  make. 

"That  appears  at  just  two  other  places,"  Converse  con- 
tinued; "at  the  entrance  to  Room  4,  where  I  found  the 
hairpin,  and  just  inside  this  room;  and  there,  beyond  that 
desk,  near  the  connecting  door.  They  were  made  by  a 
woman  who  stood  a  while  at  the  first  door,  and  who  then,  I 
believe,  —  though  I  can't  be  positive,  —  tiptoed  to  the 
connecting  door,  where  she  paused  again  for  a  while.  She 
either  tiptoed  between  those  points,  or  stood  for  a  time;  the 
marks  would  n't  have  remained  had  she  walked  directly 
through  the  two  rooms." 

Lynden  stared  at  the  tiny  impression  —  so  faint  that 
nobody  else  would  ever  have  remarked  it  —  and  seemingly 
sought  to  frame  a  reply  that  he  could  voice  naturally. 

"Wonderful!  Wonderful!"  was  all  he  said,  but  in  tones 
so  low  that  they  were  scarcely  louder  than  Mr.  Converse's 
whisper. 

The  latter  now  turned  to  the  rest  of  the  room.  Swiftly, 

[50] 


A  Search  for  Clues 

but  apparently  permitting  not  the  least  article  to  escape  his 
observation,  he  made  the  circuit  of  the  apartment,  and 
finally  paused  at  Clay  Fail-child's  desk.  Almost  instantly 
his  eyes  singled  out  one  from  among  the  mass  of  papers 
which  littered  it.  This  he  carefully  folded,  and  placed, 
with  the  article  he  had  picked  up  on  the  stairway,  which 
Lynden  had  been  unable  to  see,  in  the  capacious  pocket- 
book.  He  seemed  reluctant  to  leave  this  desk;  after  he  had 
turned  away  he  paused  and  cast  another  look  at  it,  sniffing 
as  one  striving  to  locate  the  source  of  a  faint  odor.  Lynden 
paused  too;  he  glanced  hurriedly  from  right  to  left,  his  brow 
lined,  his  expression  troubled  and  perplexed. 

At  length  they  returned  to  Mr.  Nettleton's  private  office, 
which  was  subjected  to  as  close  and  thorough  an  examina- 
tion as  had  been  the  room  just  quitted.  Only  one  thing 
seemed  especially  to  hold  Converse's  attention,  and  that 
was  the  space  beneath  the  lawyer's  desk.  Here  he  got 
down  to  his  hands  and  knees,  and  struck  no  less  than  five 
matches  in  an  effort  to  obtain  a  bettei  light.  Whether  the 
dusty  space  told  him  anything  Lynden  could  not  deter- 
mine. 

They  passed  back  into  the  hall  again.  Converse  walked 
directly  to  the  entrance  of  Suite  2,  immediately  adjoining 
Doctor  Westbrook's  offices,  on  the  side  nearest  the  stairway. 
A  small  card  pasted  on  the  ground  glass  of  this  door  bore 
the  words  "To  Let."  Converse  ignited  another  match, 
in  the  added  light  of  which  he  examined  the  door-knob. 
His  companion  observed  him  touch  it  with  the  tip  of  a  finger, 
and  shake  his  head,  as  if  something  incomprehensible  had 
all  at  once  presented  itself. 

"Does  the  janitor  sleep  in  the  building?"  the  Captain 

[511 


The  Silver  Blade 

inquired  after  a  moment;  when  the  young  man  nodded 
affirmatively,  he  added :  "  Can  you  get  the  keys  of  this  floor 
for  me?  It  will  save  some  time  and  trouble,  and  I  want 
to  finish  before  the  reporters  come." 

"  Certainly.     His  room  is  in  the  third  story." 

Converse  watched  him  until  he  disappeared  around 
the  corner  toward  the  stairway,  and  straightway  did  some- 
thing very  strange.  With  the  silence  and  speed  of  a  cat  he 
made  his  way  back  to  Fairchild's  desk.  Over  this  he 
bent  and  smelt  the  papers  which  lay  there.  But  that 
would  not  do.  Hastily  he  tried  the  top  right-hand  drawer. 
It  was  unlocked  —  as  were  all  the  other  drawers  —  and 
opened  easily.  That  for  which  he  was  searching  was  not 
there,  either.  He  turned  rapidly  to  another  drawer,  and 
another,  and  another,  until  every  drawer  in  the  desk  had 
been  opened  and  closed  again,  its  contents  having  been 
hastily  but  thoroughly  gone  over;  and  still  the  object  of 
this  hurried  search  was  not  found.  Quickly  he  glanced 
from  side  to  side.  To  the  left  of  the  desk  was  a  waste-paper 
basket,  which  had  not  been  recently  emptied,  and  over  this 
he  inhaled  deeply,  as  one  would  drink  in  the  fragrance  of  a 
rose.  He  thrust  a  hand  among  the  debris  of  papers,  and 
in  a  moment  drew  forth  a  dainty  lace  handkerchief,  to  which 
clung  the  unmistakable  odor  of  stephanotis.  Again  the 
capacious  pocket-book;  and  when  Lynden  returned  with 
the  keys  the  Captain  was  contemplating  the  door-knob  of 
Suite  2  with  unabated  interest. 

Lynden  sniffed  as  the  other  ran  over  the  key-tags  in  a 
search  for  No.  2. 

"  What  is  that  perfume  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"Ah,  do  you  like  that,  now?"  rejoined  Converse,  with 

[52] 


A  Search  for  Clues 

the  first  display  of  enthusiasm  he  had  yet  shown.  "That 
is  an  odor  I  am  very  partial  to,  and  hope  to  have  more  of  — 
if  I  can  find  where  this  came  from." 

The  young  man  moistened  his  lips,  and  his  eyes  turned 
away  from  the  other's  steady  look. 

Converse  now  had  the  door  to  No.  2  open,  but  he  did 
not  enter  this  room.  It  needed  only  the  match  he  now 
struck  to  disclose  layer  upon  layer  of  dust,  the  undisturbed 
accumulation  of  months. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  he,  as  he  closed  and  locked  the  door 
again,  "back  to  the  light-well  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  I 
am  through." 

He  let  himself  out  of  the  hall  window,  and  made  another 
circuit  of  the  ledge  around  the  skylight.  The  light-well 
was  more  or  less  a  catch-all  for  the  windows  opening  into  it ; 
it  therefore  contained  many  scraps  of  paper,  every  one  of 
which  he  glanced  at  before  casting  it  aside.  Only  one 
thing  here  seemed  to  interest  him, —  something  he  picked 
up  far  out  on  the  skylight  and  scrutmized.  Lynden  was 
afforded  another  glimpse  of  the  pocket-book. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"A  cigarette  butt,"  was  the  reply;  "interesting  only 
because  it  is  the  second  one  of  the  same  kind  I  have  found 
to-night." 

Presently,  when  he  announced  that  he  had  finished, 
Lynden  said  it  had  fallen  to  them  to  turn  out  the  lights  and 
lock  the  doors,  as  the  negro  janitor  was  too  frightened  to 
venture  into  the  second  story  that  night.  This  was  soon 
accomplished,  and  the  two  had  turned  to  depart,  when 
both  abruptly  stopped.  A  light  had  flashed  forth  through 
the  ground  glass  of  Room  6. 

[53] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"What  room  is  that?"  asked  Converse;  for  the  door 
was  bare  of  significance  excepting  for  the  single  figure  "  6, " 
now  standing  out  boldly  against  the  light  behind. 

"The  record  and  abstract  room  of  the  Guaranty  Trust 
Company,"  was  the  reply.  "He  must  have  come  in  while 
you  were  in  the  light-well." 

"  He  ?    Who  ?  "     Converse  queried  bluntly. 

Both  were  standing  as  they  had  paused  when  the  light 
first  surprised  them,  and  Lynden  turned  to  his  interlocutor 
with  some  surprise  at  the  quickening  eagerness  of  his  tone, 
but  he  answered  merely: 

"Slade, —  William  Slade;  he  prepares  the  company's 
abstracts  of  title,  you  know." 

Converse's  manner  became  completely  impersonal  again. 
"Can  you  find  some  excuse  for  knocking?"  he  asked. 
"  Would  you  mind  doing  so  ?  I  should  like  to  have  a  glimpse 
of  him." 

" Not  at  all;  if  I  can  make  him  hear.     He  's  quite  deaf." 

Lynden,  after  knocking  once  perfunctorily,  did  not  wait 
for  a  summons  to  enter.  He  immediately  threw  the  door 
wide  open,  crying,  without  much  show  of  deference : 

" Hello,  Mr.  Slade!    You  work  late  to-night." 

A  little,  dingy,  dreary  figure  of  a  man,  perched  on  a 
high  stool,  and  bending  over  a  huge  canvas-bound  volume, 
slowly  raised  his  head,  and  gazed  at  his  unceremonious 
callers  with  the  vacant  look  that  one  sees  in  the  eyes  of  deaf 
people  who  have  not  heard  distinctly.  His  smooth-shaven 
face  was  like  leather,  shot  and  crisscrossed  with  a  network 
of  fine  wrinkles.  Almost  on  the  tip  of  his  nose  he  was 
balancing  a  pair  of  steel-rimmed  spectacles,  and  the  eyes 
which  now  looked  over  them  were  remarkably  bright  and 

[54] 


A  Search  for  Clues 

sparkling,  like  a  mouse's,  conveying  to  the  casual  glance 
an  alertness  which  they  did  not  actually  possess. 

"  Howard  Lynden,  close  the  door,"  was  the  odd  creature's 
greeting,  in  a  voice  hoarse  and  rasping.  The  sharp  little 
eyes  shifted  to  the  Captain,  and  back  to  Lynden  again. 
There  was  no  cordiality  in  either  his  tone  or  manner. 

The  young  man  took  a  step  forward,  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  tall  desk  at  which  the  little  man  was  seated,  raised  his 
voice  and  asked,  "  Did  you  know  there  had  been  a  murder 
committed  on  this  floor  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Murder  ?  "  querulously,  and  with  no  show  of  interest. 
"  Murder  ?  " 

"Yes;  murder.  The  man  died  in  Doctor  Westbrook's 
office  —  stabbed." 

Without  displaying  the  least  curiosity  at  so  unexpected, 
so  sensational  an  announcement,  Mr.  Slade  slowly  wagged 
his  head,  saying  only,  "  I  heard  nothing  of  it."  He  dipped 
his  pen  into  the  ink-well,  with  an  air  of  dismissing  his 
callers  and  the  subject  alike. 

"I  saw  your  light,  and  just  dropped  in  to  learn  if  you 
knew  of  it,"  Lynden  concluded,  as  he  followed  the  Captain 
toward  the  hall.  Lowering  his  voice,  and  addressing  the 
latter,  "Is  there  anything  else?"  he  inquired;  at  once  the 
wrinkled,  meagre  visage  and  twinkling  eyes  became  sus- 
picious and  alert. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  demanded  Slade,  with  obvious  mistrust. 

"Nothing,"  the  young  man  returned  shortly.  "Good- 
night." 

Mr.  Slade's  parchment-like  countenance  again  bent  over 
the  big  volume,  and  his  pen  flew  industriously.  It  was 
startling,  when  the  door  had  nearly  closed,  to  have  the 

[55] 


The  Silver  Blade 

rasping  voice  come  after  them  with  the  suddenness  of  an 
explosion. 

"Howard  Lynden!"  it  cried.  That  gentleman,  sur- 
prised, thrust  his  head  back  into  the  room. 

With  pen  poised  in  hand,  with  spectacles  still  balanced 
near  the  tip  of  his  thin  nose,  the  ill-favored  mask  of  Slade's 
countenance  was  again  confronting  the  detective  and  his 
companion. 

"  What  time  was  that  murder  ?  "   asked  the  abstracter. 

"At  five  o'clock,"  Lynden  rejoined,  he  and  the  Captain 
again  advancing  into  the  room. 

"  And  the  murdered  man  ?  " 

"  General  Westbrook's  friend,  Senor  de  Sanchez." 

The  little  eyes  turned  once  more  quickly  to  the  Captain 
and  back  to  Lynden  as  he  asked  the  next  question : 

"  Ah !  And  who  was  —  the  —  murderer  ?  "  He  spoke 
deliberately,  his  harsh  voice  lowering  itself  strangely. 

"  That  the  police  would  very  much  like  to  know." 

Again  the  little  eyes  shifted  to  Mr.  Converse. 

"  An  officer  ?  "  inquired  Slade. 

The  Captain  nodded.  Slade's  brusque  manner  returned ; 
dropping  his  eyes  to  his  work  once  more,  he  said,  with  an 
air  of  finality: 

"I  am  sorry,  gentlemen,  I  can  tell  you  nothing.  This 
is  my  first  intelligence  that  a  crime  had  been  committed. 
Good-night.  Howard  Lynden,  close  the  door  tightly  after 
you." 

When  the  two  were  once  more  in  the  hall  the  Captain  said, 
"Mr.  Slade  developed  a  mighty  sudden  interest." 

"Yes,"    returned    his    companion;     "a    queer    bird — 
irascible,  and  touchy  about  his  deafness.     His  father  was 

[56] 


A  Search  for  Clues 

an  overseer,  you  know,"  as  though  this  fully  accounted 
for  Mr.  Slade's  undesirable  qualities.  "But  his  curiosity 
got  the  better  of  him  that  time;  he  could  n't  let  us  go  with- 
out finding  out  more." 

"He  and  I  would  have  some  difficulty  in  getting  along 
together  without  a  sign  language,"  remarked  Mr.  Converse, 
dryly. 

The  two  were  near  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  but  they  were 
not  destined  to  leave  the  building  without  another  interrup- 
tion. A  man  came  precipitately,  though  noiselessly,  in  at 
the  entrance,  who,  when  he  observed  they  were  descending, 
stopped  short  and  awaited  their  approach  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  He  was  one  of  the  two  men  who  had  followed  them 
from  headquarters,  and  he  now,  after  touching  his  hat 
respectfully  to  Mr.  Converse,  looked  askance  at  Lynden. 
The  Captain,  with  a  nod  of  apology  to  the  young  man,  drew 
the  newcomer  to  one  side. 

"  Well,  Adams  ?  "  said  he. 

"  We  found  Mr.  Fairchild's  all  right,"  the  man  whispered; 
"but  Mr.  Fairchild  was  not  there.  He  has  not  returned 
from  the  office,  and  his  sister  and  mother  are  very  anxious. 
The  mother  is  something  of  an  invalid  —  did  n't  see  her 
at  all.  Talked  with  the  sister,  who  seemed,  anyhow,  to  be 
the  head.  Pretended  to  want  a  notary  and  quizzed  her, 
but  she  could  tell  me  nothing.  I  don't  believe  horses  could 
draw  anything  from  her  if  she  did  n't  want  to  tell.  Cap- 
tain Converse,  sir,  she  had  an  eye  that  looked  right  into  me 
all  the  time  I  was  talking,  and  I  know  she  thought  I  was 
lying  when  I  said  I  wanted  a  notary."  The  man  showed 
two  rows  of  glistening  white  teeth  in  an  unpleasant  grin. 
"  I  did  want  a  notary,  but  she  did  n't  know  I  was  so  particu- 

[57] 


The  Silver  Blade 

lar  about  which  one.  But  I  don't  believe  she  knows  where 
he  is.  I  left  Barton  to  watch  the  house,  and  I  came  on  to 
report." 

"Very  good." 

"  And  what  shall  I  do  now  ?  " 

"Keep  your  eye  on  this  man  here  with  me  until  I  can 
send  you  relief;  I  shall  keep  Barton  watching  the  house." 

The  manner  of  the  man  called  Adams  was  both  stealthy 
and  ingratiating;  his  visage  seemed  unable  to  rid  itself  of  a 
perpetual  smile,  which,  taken  with  a  pair  of  crafty,  shifting 
eyes,  gave  him  a  sinister  appearance.  During  the  entire 
time  he  and  Mr.  Converse  were  talking,  he  kept  looking  past 
the  latter  at  Lynden;  and  that  this  surreptitious  espionage 
was  extremely  unpleasant  was  made  manifest  by  the  young 
man's  growing  uneasiness. 

Still  smiling,  shooting  a  last  rapid  glance  at  Lynden,  he 
departed  as  abruptly  and  noiselessly  as  he  had  come. 

Converse  turned  to  his  companion,  fixing  him  with  a 
steely  eye;  and  what  he  said  seemed  unaccountably  to  agitate 
the  young  man. 

"I  wish  to  remind  you  that  you  are  a  very  important 
witness  in  this  affair.  I  shall  venture  a  hint  and  a  word  of 
advice:  if  you  are  not  more  circumspect  on  the  witness- 
stand  than  you  have  been  to-night,  you  will  have  a  mighty 
bad  hour;  if  you  are  contemplating  a  trip  from  the  city, 
why  —  change  your  mind."  With  a  curt  "  Good-night," 
he  left  Lynden  speechless  in  the  doorway  of  the  Nettleton 
Building. 

Lynden  remained  motionless  many  minutes.  When 
he  at  last  produced  a  cigarette  from  his  pocket,  the  cupped 
hands  holding  the  lighted  match  trembled  so  he  had  diffi- 

[58] 


A  Search  for  Clues 

culty  in  igniting  it.     Abruptly  he  started  away  in  a  direc- 
tion opposite  that  taken  by  the  huge  figure  of  the  Captain. 

Behind  him  moved  a  shadow  so  stealthily,  its  outlines 
so  dim,  that  it  was  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  the 
surrounding  night. 


[50] 


CHAPTER  IV 

MR.  CONVERSE  APPEARS  AS  CHORUS 

EARLY  the  next  morning  Mr.  Mountjoy,  the  district 
attorney,  and  the  Coroner  were  seated  in  the  former's 
office  with  a  flat  desk  between  them.  Upon  this 
set  forth  in  orderly  array,  were  the  letters,  papers,  and 
other  personal  effects  gleaned  from  the  pockets  of  the  dead 
man;  dominating  the  whole  was  the  sinister  and  grew- 
some  little  silver  blade, —  Doctor  Westbrook's  paper-knife. 

The  regard  of  both  officials  rested  upon  it  as  they  medi- 
tated and  waited  for  the  Captain. 

Remove  those  bloodstains  and  the  weapon  became  a 
dainty  toy,  but  withal  a  dangerous  one.  The  point  was 
like  a  needle's,  and  terminated  a  slender,  tapering  blade, 
silver-like  in  its  brightly  polished  steel,  two-edged,  and  of 
indubitable  fineness.  The  guard,  a  solid  piece  of  beauti- 
fully engraved  gold,  was  shaped  somewhat  like  a  Cupid's 
bow,  while  the  hilt,  of  silver,  was  decorated  with  an  in- 
tricate, graceful  pattern  of  chasing,  inlaid  with  gold,  and 
surrounding  a  scroll  upon  which  was  engraved  in  script  the 
single  word: 


The  chasing,  in  addition  to  being  an  exquisite  work  of 
art,  possessed  also  the  utility  of  supplying  an  excellent  pur- 
chase for  any  hand  grasping  it. 

And  what  hand  was  upon  that  pretty  hilt  when  last  it 
was  held  in  anger?  Whose  fingers  had  tightened  slowly 

[60] 


Mr.  Converse  Appears  as  Chorus 

over  the  dainty  feminine  name,  as  the  unsuspecting  victim 
approached  ?    Did  "  Paquita "  contain  a  hidden  charm  — 
some  invisible  potency  —  to  guide  the  hand  to  its  hideous, 
self-appointed  task  ? 

Alas,  if  it  could  but  tell !  If,  instead  of  the  praenomen, 
redolent  as  it  was  of  fresh  maiden  innocence,  the  scroll  had 
borne  some  word  pointing  to  the  assassin !  And  yet,  after 
all,  could  it  be  possible  that  the  momentous  intelligence 
actually  was  there,  and  only  human  eyes  were  blind?  If 
such  be  the  case,  it  will  require  a  vision  more  than  human 
to  seek  it  out  and  read  what  is  there  written.  Surely;  for 
the  weapon  bore  no  other  mark  or  testimony. 

The  District  Attorney's  voice  disturbed  the  quiet. 

"It  is  an  amazing  thing,"  said  he,  in  a  speculative  tone, 
"  what  a  nice  tangle  this  case  is  beginning  to  promise.  Re- 
late the  bare  facts,  as  we  know  them,  to  any  disinterested 
person,  and  he  would  instantly  say  that  Mobley  Westbrook 
committed  the  deed.  To  be  suddenly  come  upon,  a  smok- 
ing dagger  in  your  hand  —  standing  over  a  dying  man  — 
the  provocation  supplying  a  motive  —  and  all  that  —  h-m-m ! 
pretty  bad." 

But  Mr.  Mount  joy  the  next  instant  laughed  in  a  way  that 
signified  it  to  be  the  height  of  absurdity  to  think  of  Doc- 
tor Westbrook  as  a  murderer. 

"There  is  not  a  phase  or  side  of  the  man's  character," 
he  continued,  "with  which  the  crime  can  be  made  to  fit. 
I  can  more  easily  imagine  Mobley  Westbrook  —  but  of 
course  I  know  him  so  well  that  personal  bias  influences 
me  largely  in  his  favor.  It  would  require  evidence  quite 
conclusive,  though,  to  move  me  to  proceed  against  him. 
It 's  queer,  anyhow,  a  family  of  their  quiet,  humdrum 

[61] 


The  Silver  Blade 

respectability  being  mixed  with  an  affair  of  this  nature, 
even  remotely;  there  is  more  behind  it  than  we  now  imagine; 
and  I  believe  there  will  be  plenty  of  work  for  one  John 
Converse." 

As  if  this  colloquy  had  been  a  scene  on  a  stage,  and  the 
two  last  words  a  cue,  the  door  opened,  and  the  Captain  of 
detectives  himself  entered.  He  walked  to  the  desk  with 
manner  quiet  and  deferential,  gravely  returning  the  saluta- 
tions of  the  two  officials  seated  there. 

"Here's  John  to  speak  for  himself,"  said  the  Coroner. 

"Theseus  has  come  to  lead  us  from  this  labyrinth  of 
mystery,"  laughed  Mr.  Mountjoy.  "  Silent  and  enigmatical 
servant  of  Destiny,  who  knows  what  momentous  knowledge 
is  hidden  behind  that  impassive  exterior?  John,  are  you 
ready  to  point  the  stern  and  unrelenting  finger  of  denun- 
ciation at  the  guilty  wretch,  and  say, '  Thou  art  the  man ! '  ? " 

But  the  Captain  did  not  respond  to  the  lawyer's  banter- 
ing humor.  Instead,  he  seated  himself  on  one  side  of  the 
table,  remarking  merely : 

"Gentlemen,  this  is  a  very  serious  case." 

"Serious!"  cried  the  District  Attorney,  his  mood  in  no 
wise  changing.  "  Serious  ?  which  is  but  one  method  of  in- 
forming us  that  there  has  been  a  dearth  of  clues."  He 
suddenly  leaned  forward,  rested  his  elbows  upon  the  table, 
and  interlocked  his  slender  fingers.  "Come,  John,  what 
have  you  discovered  ?  "  he  concluded  more  soberly. 

For  answer  Mr.  Converse  drew  forth  his  large  and  well- 
worn  pocket-book,  from  which  he  took  one  by  one,  and  laid 
upon  the  desk,  two  slips  of  paper,  a  small  hairpin,  two 
half-consumed  cigarettes  —  the  paper  of  which  was  a  dark 
brown,  like  butcher's  wrapping-papers  —  and  lastly,  a  dainty 

[62] 


CAPTAIN  CONVERSE  WAS  ESDOWKD  WITH  THE  IMPASSIVENESS  OF  AN  INDIAN,  XOR  COULD 
ONE  IMAGINE  HIM  AGITATED  IN  ANY  CIRCUMSTANCES. 


Mr.  Converse  Appears  as  Chorus 

bit  of  cambric  and  lace,  to  which  clung  a  delicate  odor  of 
stephanotis, —  a  lady's  handkerchief. 

Mr.  Merkel  adjusted  his  spectacles;  the  District  At- 
torney became  wholly  serious;  and  together  they  bent  over 
the  grotesque  assortment,  staring  as  though  the  mystery 
might  be  disclosed  then  and  there. 

Presently  both  sat  back  in  their  chairs,  and  turned  ex- 
pectantly to  Converse. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  began  gravely,  "I  believe  we  must  look 
to  a  certain  lady  for  a  detailed  account  of  her  connection 
with  this  case." 

"A  woman!"  ejaculated  the  lawyer.  "Well,  I  am  not 
surprised;  it  could  not  promise  much  without  a  woman 
—  no  more  than  that  affair  of  the  Garden  could  have  been 
without  Eve.  .  .  .  And  do  you  know  who  she  is  ? " 

Mr.  Converse  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

"No,"  said  he;  "not  yet.  But  a  woman  was  in  Mr. 
Nettleton's  offices  so  close  to  the  time  the  crime  was  com- 
mitted that  her  presence  is  quite  the  most  important  factor 
at  present  —  that,  and  Clay  Fairchild's  disappearance." 

Both  listeners  showed  their  astonishment. 

"So  that  young  Fairchild  has  disappeared,  has  he?" 
remarked  Mr.  Merkel.  "  I  always  thought  he  was  a  steady 
sort  of  chap.  But  you  can  never  tell  about  these  young 
fellows,  especially  when  they  get  tangled  with  a  woman.  I 
wonder  who  she  is?"  he  added,  musingly,  and  colored 
when  Mr.  Mountjoy  laughed. 

"  That  is  just  a  puzzling  feature  of  the  thing,"  the  Cap- 
tain resumed.  "I  have  had  no  trouble  in  securing  a  com- 
plete record  of  the  young  man's  private  life,  and  it  proves  to 
be  unexceptionably  clean.  No  woman  figures  in  it  to  any 

[63] 


The  Silver  Blade 

great  extent.  Young  Fairchild  is  very  poor;  but  he  is  the 
head  of  one  of  these  old  families  here,  and  is  on  a  footing 
with  people  like  the  Westbrooks,  the  Nettletons,  and  their 
class,  that  a  great  many  with  more  money  can't  boast  of. 
He  is  one  of  'the  quality';  and  though  his  poverty  pre- 
vents him  from  figuring  at  all  in  society,  he  is  neverthe- 
less a  frequent  visitor  in  many  of  the  best  homes  in  the  city." 

"Aye,  I  know  those  Fairchilds,"  said  Mr.  Mountjoy, 
nodding  his  head  slowly;  "fine  old  stock,  but  dropped 
from  sight  since  Dick,  the  scamp,  went  smash.  There  's 
a  girl,  too,  is  n't  there  ?  Mother  an  invalid  ?  Thought  so. 
Proceed,  John." 

"It  appears  that  he  was  always  a  studious  boy,"  Mr. 
Converse  went  on,  "  and  there  is  only  one  thing  that  seems 
to  be  in  his  disfavor.  It  is  this:  although  he  has  been 
acting  as  Mr.  Nettleton's  clerk  and  stenographer,  and  is 
a  notary  public,  he  entered  Mr.  Nettleton's  office  for  the 
purpose  of  studying  law.  Now,  Mr.  Nettleton  says  that 
while  young  Fairchild  was  diligent  in  his  duties,  and  pos- 
sessed of  no  bad  habits,  he  disappointed  his  patron  by 
evincing  a  lack  of  interest  in  his  studies,  which  he  gradually 
came  to  neglect.  It  seems  that  he  has  literary  aspirations, 
and  his  present  vocation  is  a  necessity.  His  mother  and  sis- 
ter, excepting  for  a  little  property  belonging  to  the  latter,  are 
both  dependent  on  him,  and  he  has  always  been  particu- 
larly solicitous  of  their  welfare.  I  must  confess  that  his 
lighting  out  the  way  he  has,  and  our  failure  to  find  the 
slightest  trace  of  his  whereabouts,  coupled  with  the  cir- 
cumstance of  the  woman,  are  at  present  very  puzzling.  But 
we  will  get  to  this  later;  we  can  secure  a  better  grasp  of  the 
entire  situation  by  commencing  at  the  beginning. 

[04] 


Mr.  Converse  Appears  as  Chorus 

"  Well,  when  De  Sanchez  entered  the  Nettleton  Building 
yesterday  evening  there  were  in  the  east  end  of  the  second 
floor  at  least  five  persons,  —  Doctor  Mobley  Westbrook, 
who  was  in  his  reception-room;  Fairchild,  who  was  in  one 
or  the  other  of  Mr.  Nettleton's  rooms;  Mr.  Ferdinand 
Howe,  who  was  in  the  Doctor's  laboratory;  William  Slade, 
who  was  in  Room  6;  and  some  woman.  Mr.  J.  Howard 
Lynden  entered  the  building  only  a  few  seconds  after  De 
Sanchez,  and  both  were  bound  for  the  Doctor's  office.  It  is 
self-evident  that  the  criminal  was  present  also,  and  I  can 
account  for  no  one  else.  Indeed,  unless  the  witnesses  were 
blind  or  are  now  resorting  to  deliberate  falsehood,  it  is  ab- 
solutely impossible  that  any  person  besides  those  indicated 
could  have  been  present. 

"Of  the  six  individuals  named  we  may  at  once  drop 
Slade  and  Howe,  leaving  us  Fairchild,  the  woman,  Doctor 
Westbrook,  and  Lynden  to  be  considered  as  possibilities. 

"Beginning  with  Fairchild,  and  in  connection  with  the 
lady,  I  will  preface  what  I  have  to  say  with  the  statement 
that  his  place  in  the  case  is  very  difficult  to  determine;  but 
that  it  is  at  least  of  great  moment,  I  am  convinced. 

"For  the  present  there  is  only  a  hypothetical  motive 
for  his  curious  behavior;  but  he  was  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  crime  at  the  time  of  its  commission,  and  did  not  leave 
the  building  until  several  minutes  afterward  —  and  then 
under  very  peculiar  circumstances.  The  hypothetical 
motive  by  which  I  shall  try  to  explain  his  conduct  is  affection 
for  the  woman. 

"  Now,  the  hall  dividing  the  rooms  in  the  eastern  wing  of 
the  Nettleton  is  just  twelve  feet  wide,  and  we  may  take  it 
as  an  established  fact  that  the  blow  was  delivered  between 

[65] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Doctor  Westbrook's  entrance  and  the  hall  door  to  Mr. 
Nettleton's  private  office,  the  two  doors  being  directly  oppo- 
site each  other.  We  may  even  go  a  bit  farther  and  say  that 
De  Sanchez  was  closer  to  the  Doctor's  door,  for,  owing 
to  the  nature  of  the  wound,  all  volition  was  immediately 
removed  from  the  deceased's  movements.  The  act  of  his 
falling  through  the  door  would  indicate  that  he  had  already 
turned  to  enter  the  Doctor's  office,  was  close  to  it,  and  was 
projected  through  the  doorway  simply  by  the  momentum 
of  the  speed  at  which  he  had  been  walking.  That  gives  us 
four  possible  routes  whereby  the  murderer  could  have  come 
into  contact  with  his  victim  at  the  spot  mentioned,  and  it  is 
necessary  to  bear  these  in  mind : 

"  1.  Through  the  hall  from  the  stairway; 

"  2.  From  Doctor  Westbrook's  office ; 

"3.  Through  the  window  at  the  end  of  the  hall, 
which  opens  into  the  light-well ;  and 

"4.  Through  Mr.  Nettleton's  private  office. 

"Assuming  the  truth  of  all  the  statements,  the  story  I 
obtained  from  Lynden  obviates  the  first;  number  two  we  will 
set  aside  on  the  strength  of  Doctor  Westbrook's  statement, 
partially  corroborated  by  Howe.  Regarding  the  third  route 
—  that  is  to  say,  the  hall  window  opening  into  the  light- 
well  —  we  have  two  persons  who  were  looking  into  the 
light-well  from  two  different  points,  from  about  five  minutes 
before,  and  during  the  tune  the  deed  was  committed,  until 
several  seconds  thereafter.  These  two  are  Mr.  Howe  and 
Judge  Elihu  Petty,  of  Petty  &  Carlton,  who  was  looking 
from  his  window  in  the  Field  Building,  diagonally  across  from 
where  Howe  was  standing.  Both  these  gentlemen  are  posi- 
tive that  no  one  entered  or  left  the  Nettleton  hall  window, 

[66] 


Mr.  Converse  Appears  as  Chorus 

and  that  there  was  no  movement  of  any  kind  at  any  of  the 
other  windows  during  the  time  they  were  looking  into  the 
light-well.  Indeed,  it  seems  impossible  that  there  could  have 
been  under  the  circumstances.  Looking  from  any  of  the 
windows  mentioned,  the  entire  light-well  is  within  one's 
range  of  vision;  and  while  it  is  true  that  twilight  had  set 
in,  it  was  by  no  means  dark  or  even  nearly  so  when  the 
deed  was  committed;  and  we  may  assume  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  anybody  to  have  entered  the  hall  by  way  of  the 
light-well  without  attracting  the  attention  of  either  Howe 
or  Judge  Petty. 

"  Fortunately  we  have  a  basis  from  which  to  estimate  the 
exact  time  the  blow  was  struck,  and,  in  fact,  all  the  other 
known  incidents  in  this  affair.  That  was  the  five  o'clock 
whistles.  We  may  set  it  down,  then,  as  another  estab- 
lished fact,  that  the  blow  was  delivered  in  not  to  exceed  four 
seconds  of  that  hour.  Howe  knows  the  exact  time  he  took 
up  his  position  at  the  laboratory  window;  it  was  there  he 
was  standing  when  De  Sanchez  fell  through  the  reception- 
room  door,  and  at  that  moment  he  heard  the  whistles  begin 
blowing.  Judge  Petty  remembers  the  circumstance  also, 
and  connects  it  with  Howe's  sudden  disappearance  from  the 
laboratory  window;  and  Doctor  Westbrook  is  now  able  to 
recall  the  fact  of  the  whistles  blowing  being  coincident  with 
the  deceased's  tragic  entrance. 

"These  facts  confine  us  to  Mr.  Nettleton's  private  oflfice 
to  seek  a  solution,  and  there  we  find  a  number  of  circum- 
stances justifying  a  closer  examination. 

"The  facts  here  warrant  the  following  assumptions: 
That  between  four-thirty  and  five  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon, 
Clay  Fairchild  and  some  woman  —  name  unknown  —  were 

[671 


The  Silver  Blade 

in  Mr.  Nettleton's  offices;  that  Mr.  Fairchild  did  not  depart 
until  after  five  o'clock;  that  the  lady  was  familiar  with  the 
arrangement  of  the  second  floor;  that  so  far  we  know  no 
one  who  either  saw  her  enter  the  building,  or  saw  her  while 
she  was  inside  it,  or  saw  her  leave;  that  she  went  into  Mr. 
Nettleton's  private  office  from  the  hall,  where  she  stood 
behind  the  door  for  a  while ;  that  she  next  tiptoed  on  through 
to  Mr.  Nettleton's  general  office,  where  she  stopped  again 
at  the  connecting  door,  close  by  Fairchild's  desk,  at  which 
point,  in  her  agitation,  she  dropped  this  handkerchief  into 
the  waste-paper  basket.  She  then  made  her  way  to  the  hall 
door  of  Mr.  Nettleton's  general  office,  where  she  again 
stopped  behind  the  door,  as  though  waiting  for  some  one 
to  pass. 

"Now,  if  this  woman  was  the  assassin,  her  actions  are 
easily  explained.  She  stood  behind  the  private  office  door 
—  whence,  with  the  door  ajar,  one  has  a  view  down  the 
length  of  the  hall  to  the  stairway  —  and  awaited  the  vic- 
tim's approach;  just  as  he  turned  to  enter  the  Doctor's 
office  she  sprang  out  and  administered  the  death  wound, 
—  in  such  haste  to  get  back  that  she  made  no  effort  to  re- 
cover the  weapon,  but  hurried  on  through  Mr.  Nettleton's 
office  to  the  hall  door  of  the  general  office.  Here  warning 
footsteps  announce  that  there  is  some  one  else  in  the  hall, 
and  standing  close  to  the  partially  opened  door,  with  her 
hand  on  the  knob,  she  waits  until  Lynden  passes.  It  is 
but  a  second  after  that  he  is  standing  at  the  threshold  of  the 
Doctor's  open  door,  overcome  by  the  scene  it  discloses,  and 
both  deaf  and  blind  for  a  moment  to  all  else.  She  takes 
advantage  of  that  moment  to  pass  on  down  the  hall  to  the 
stairway,  and  so  out  of  the  building,  probably  unobserved 

[68] 


Mr.  Converse  Appears  as  Chorus 

by  any  one  except  Fairchild.  An  agile  person  would  have 
had  just  about  time  before  Lynden  appeared  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  to  strike  such  a  blow  as  killed  De  Sanchez,  and 
then  either  spring  into  the  light-well  or  run  into  Mr.  Nettle- 
ton's  office. 

"Now,  all  this  could  not  have  happened  without  Fair- 
child's  knowledge,  and  we  are  not  lacking  light  on  his 
participation  in  the  murder  under  the  theory  I  am  now  un- 
folding. 

"Under  the  circumstances,  knowledge  can  mean  only 
connivance.  The  known  facts  coincide  precisely,  and  ex- 
plain every  hypothesis  upon  which  this  theory  is  based; 
and  to  get  at  his  connection  with  the  affair,  please  observe 
these  two  bits  of  paper." 

Mr.  Converse  unfolded  one  of  them,  and  flattened  it  on 
the  desk,  and  as  he  did  so,  asked : 

"Is  it  not  singular  that  two  men,  apparently  unknown 
to  each  other,  should  have  betrayed  interest  in  Doctor 
Westbrook's  paper-knife  in  an  identical  manner  ?  But  such 
is  the  fact. 

"This  one  was  torn  from  a  sheet  of  typewriter  paper, 
such  as  Fairchild  uses;  I  found  it  on  his  desk.  Here  we 
have  a  fairly  good  drawing  of  the  dagger  in  question,  made 
painstakingly,  and  as  though  to  illustrate  a  verbal  description. 
But  he  drew  it  from  memory,  as  a  close  inspection  of  the 
sketch  will  indicate.  He  has  either  omitted  or  distorted 
several  little  details  which  not  only  appear  quite  plain  on 
the  dagger  itself,  but  are  quick  to  catch  the  observer's  notice. 
But  most  convincing  of  this  circumstance  are  the  words 
alongside  the  picture  blade  in  Fairchild's  handwriting, 
'  about  6  inches.'  The  blade  is,  in  reality,  exactly  five  inches 

[69] 


The  Silver  Blade 

long:  then  why,  if  he  had  it  before  him,  together  with  the 
office  ruler,  which  lay  on  the  desk,  should  he  have  guessed 
at  the  blade's  length  ? 

"This  other  came  from  Doctor  Westbrook's  desk  in  the 
reception-room.  It  is  widely  different  from  Fairchild's 
drawing,  and  was  made  by  a  person  who  is  something  of 
an  artist.  Furthermore,  he  had  the  weapon  before  him,  for 
the  intricate  design  on  the  hilt  is  copied  faithfully;  besides, 
many  trifling  details,  such  as  the  peculiar  shape  of  the  little 
knobs  at  each  end  of  the  guard,  the  script  in  which  the  word 
'  Paquita'  is  engraved,  are  all  rendered  exactly  in  the  sketch. 
From  it  we  are  even  able  to  form  an  idea  when  it  was 
drawn:  some  time  on  the  evening  of  November  third,  or 
the  day  before  the  murder.  So  we  may  say  that  the  weapon 
had  not  been  removed  from  the  Doctor's  table  prior  to  that 
time.  Observe  this  spattered  blot  and  the  hole  in  the  paper 
beneath  it.  That  was  caused  by  the  artist  bringing  the  pen 
down  on  the  paper  with  such  force  that  the  pen  broke,  the 
ink  was  spattered,  and  the  paper  perforated  as  you  now 
see  it. 

"Doctor  Westbrook  has  four  penholders  on  this  table; 
but  he  is  so  partial  to  a  particular  one  of  them  that  he  in- 
variably selects  it  in  preference  to  the  other  three  when  he 
wishes  to  write.  He  used  it  about  four  o'clock  Tuesday 
afternoon  —  the  third  —  and  did  not  have  occasion  to  use 
it  again  till  yesterday  evening,  when  he  started  to  write  the 
letter  to  De  Sanchez.  Then  he  discovered  that  the  point 
was  bent  and  broken;  and  we  may  infer  the  sketch  to  have 
been  made  between  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
third  and  five  o'clock  last  evening. 

"  During  that  time  a  score  or  more  of  people  were  in  and 

[70] 


Mr.  Converse  Appears  as  Chorus 

out  of  the  Doctor's  office,  and  we  have  no  handwriting  to 
guide  us  in  this  instance,  as  the  word  '  Paquita '  here  is  a 
faithful  copy  of  the  script  in  the  scroll  —  too  faithful  to 
betray  many  individualities.  But  still,  it  is  easy  to  infer 
who  sketched  this  dagger.  Observe  the  blot  again:  it  is 
located  immediately  at  the  end  of  the  word  'Paquita,'  and 
was  made  just  as  the  artist  concluded  that  word.  Now, 
what  emotions  would  cause  one  to  so  maltreat  a  pen? 
Anger  or  impatience, —  the  two  being  very  near  akin.  It 
follows  there  was  some  suggestion  in  the  word  'Paquita' 
which  angered  the  artist;  and  this  immediately  suggested 
to  me  the  man  Vargas. 

"On  the  evening  of  the  third  he  called  at  Doctor  West- 
brook's  offices  in  company  with  Senor  de  Sanchez.  He 
and  the  latter  were  negotiating  the  deal  involving  the  deed 
and  the  shares  of  stock  in  the  Paquita  Gold  Mining  Com- 
pany, and,  as  I  have  found  out,  Vargas  was  having  some 
difficulty  in  closing  the  matter,  Only  that  afternoon  had 
they  come  to  an  understanding;  but  De  Sanchez  had  not 
yet  delivered  the  papers.  Vargas  was  becoming  very 
anxious  and  impatient  over  the  delay  of  getting  them  into 
his  possession.  When  they  called  on  the  Doctor  Tuesday 
evening,  the  latter  and  De  Sanchez  retired  to  the  consulta- 
tion-room, leaving  Vargas  in  the  reception-room,  and  as  he 
sat  idly  at  the  table  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  dagger,  and 
he  fell  to  sketching  it.  The  word  'Paquita'  on  the  hilt 
brings  suddenly  to  mind  his  anxiety  and  impatience;  and 
by  a  natural,  involuntary  gesture  he  ruins  the  Doctor's  pen 
and  blots  the  drawing. 

"I  will  interpolate  here,  so  that  we  may  dismiss  him, 
that  this  person  Vargas  attracted  my  attention  owing  to  the 

[71] 


The  Silver  Blade 

very  fact  of  his  presence  in  the  city  at  this  time,  his  association 
with  deceased,  and  the  coincidence  of  the  name  '  Paquita ' 
occurring  both  on  the  dagger-hilt  and  as  the  name  of  the 
mining  company.  But  I  have  been  able  to  follow  the  nego- 
tiations between  the  two,  and  to  trace  Vargas's  movements 
all  yesterday  afternoon,  and  each  succeeding  fact  tends 
cumulatively  to  absolve  him  from  any  participation  in  the 
affair.  Warren,  a  clerk  at  the  La  Salle  House,  knew  of  the 
deal ;  both  parties  frequently  talked  about  it  in  his  presence ; 
and  it  evidently  was  just  what  it  appears  to  be.  We  are 
extremely  fortunate  in  having  this  unprejudiced  witness  to 
save  confusion  upon  this  particular  point.  On  the  after- 
noon of  Tuesday  De  Sanchez  and  Vargas  approached  him 
in  rather  an  elated  mood,  and  invited  him  to  join  them  in 
a  bottle  of  wine  to  celebrate  the  consummation  of  the  nego- 
tiations. Right  there,  you  see,  this  deal  is  removed  from 
the  chance  of  being  a  motive.  As  the  party  separated,  De 
Sanchez  mentioned  half-past  four  on  the  following  after- 
noon, yesterday,  as  the  hour  for  delivering  the  papers.  Var- 
gas was  on  hand  promptly  at  the  appointed  time,  but  the 
other  was  not;  and  after  waiting,  with  growing  impatience, 
the  former  left  the  hotel  and  did  not  return  until  about  six 
o'clock.  But  it  is  not  probable  that  he  entered  the  Net- 
tleton  Building  near  the  time  of  the  murder,  for  it  would 
have  been  utterly  impossible  for  him  to  do  so  without  being 
seen;  and  he  was  still  awaiting  De  Sanchez  when  informed 
of  his  death  by  the  clerk,  Warren.  Then  he  hastened  to 
Doctor  Westbrook's  offices. 

"Now,  let  us  return  to  Fairchild.  I  learned  a  fact  of 
some  importance  from  the  Doctor  this  morning.  Yesterday, 
as  he  was  leaving  his  office  at  about  one  o'clock,  he  met 

[721 


Mr.  Converse  Appears  as  Chorus 

Fairchild  at  the  reception-room  entrance;  the  latter,  in  a 
hurried  manner,  asked  Doctor  Westbrook  if  he  could  bor- 
row the  dagger  for  a  few  minutes,  to  which  the  Doctor 
assented.  Doctor  Westbrook  continued  on  out,  not  giving 
the  matter  another  thought,  while  Fairchild  went  into  the 
reception-room.  The  Doctor  don't  know  whether  he  got 
the  dagger  then ;  as  a  paper-knife,  the  Doctor  uses  it  only  to 
cut  magazines  or  books,  or  the  little  papers  in  which  he  puts 
up  powders  —  and  often,  when  it  is  not  right  at  hand,  he 
resorts  to  his  pocket-knife,  rather  than  hunt  for  it  in  the 
mass  of  magazines  and  papers  that  usually  litter  his  table. 
It  could  easily  be  absent  from  its  place  several  days  without 
his  missing  it. 

"Mr.  Nettleton  left  his  office  yesterday  afternoon  at 
four-thirty,  and  he  had  no  lady  callers  during  the  entire 
day;  hence  the  following  assumption  —  for  want  of  a  better 
one  — will  fit  the  present  theory :  During  the  noon  hour, 
while  Mr.  Nettleton  was  at  lunch,  Fairchild  and  the  woman 
were  together;  the  crime  was  contemplated  and  discussed 
between  them,  the  man  volunteering  to  secure  the  weapon; 
which  he  did,  but  was  surprised  by  encountering  the  Doctor, 
who  generally  goes  out  to  make  his  visits  at  that  time 
of  day. 

"However,  she  was  the  active  spirit;  hers  was  the  hand 
that  held  the  weapon,  while  the  more  timid  man  waited  at 
his  desk  in  the  adjoining  room.  There  she  paused  in  her 
flight,  and  told  him  the  deed  had  been  committed;  and 
there  he  waited  until  about  a  quarter-past  five,  when,  moved 
by  that  irresistible  impulse  which  leads  some  murderers  to 
gloat  over  their  handiwork,  he  crossed  the  hall  and  looked 
upon  the  dead  man.  This  happened  while  Lynden  was 

•  [73] 


The  Silver  Blade 

on  his  way  to  headquarters  with  the  news  of.  the  murder. 
Fairchild's  actions  were  so  singular  that  they  attracted 
both  Doctor  Westbrook's  and  Howe's  attention.  Over- 
come with  horror,  he  turned  and  fled  without  a  word.  That 
is  the  last  seen  of  Clay  Fairchild,  and  that  is  why  I  sent 
a  note  to  Barton  and  Adams,  who  were  waiting  below,  to 
find  him. 

"Under  this  theory  I  can  as  yet  conjecture  but  a  single 
motive  —  Fairchild's  interest  in  the  woman ;  and  as  to  what 
hers  is,  we  must  wait  until  her  identity  is  established." 

Converse  paused.  His  eyes  narrowed,  and  he  ran  the 
tip  of  his  tongue  across  his  lips  with  a  deliberate  lateral 
movement. 

"  I  'd  like  very  much  to  lay  my  hand  on  that  fair  lady," 
said  he,  presently,  in  a  quiet  manner;  but  an  observer 
might  have  remarked  that  a  shudder  convulsed  the  corpulent 
figure  of  Mr.  Merkel,  and  that  Mr.  Mountjoy  shot  at  him 
a  quick,  keen  look,  and  then  nodded  his  head  in  silent 
approval. 

The  Captain  went  on  at  once. 

"There  is  one  incongruous  element  in  this  theory,  how- 
ever. When  the  blow  was  struck  the  deceased  was  in  the 
act  of  turning  toward  Doctor  Westbrook's  door,  and  con- 
sequently his  back  was  almost  squarely  presented  to  Mr. 
Nettleton's.  The  wound,  as  you  know,  is  not  only  on  the 
left  side  of  the  throat,  but  tends  backward  toward  the  spinal 
column,  which  the  point  of  the  blade  penetrated.  Sus- 
pended from  the  centre  of  the  hall,  and  on  a  line  with  the 
centre  of  the  two  doorways,  is  an  electric  light.  Now,  then, 
the  murderer  coming  from  behind  the  victim  could,  under 
the  present  circumstances,  strike  the  blow  in  one  of  two 

[741 


Mr.  Converse  Appears  as  Chorus 

ways :  it  was  either  a  left-handed  person,  or,  if  right-handed, 
the  murderer  must  have  stepped  to  deceased's  left,  and  a 
little  in  front  of  him,  facing  in  the  same  direction,  and  struck 
to  the  right  and  backward.  If  the  latter  theory  is  correct, 
the  murderer  would  have  been  between  De  Sanchez  and  the 
hall  window  opening  into  the  light-well,  and  so  close  to  the 
window  that  he  —  or  she,  if  it  was  a  woman  —  would  have 
been  not  only  plainly  visible  from  the  windows  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  light-well,  but  would  have  cast  a  distinct 
shadow  because  of  the  electric  light.  If  the  murderer  was 
left-handed  he  would  not  have  been  obliged  to  go  so  far  to 
De  Sanchez's  left,  and  consequently  would  have  remained 
so  nearly  beneath  the  electric  light  that  the  only  shadow 
would  have  been  on  the  hall  floor. 

"Now,  from  the  point  where  Judge  Petty  was  looking 
into  the  light-well,  one  cannot  quite  see  Doctor  Westbrook's 
door  through  the  Nettleton  hall  window;  but  the  hall 
window  would  be  so  far  within  such  a  person's  range  of 
vision  that  the  slightest  obscuring  of  the  light  would  attract 
notice.  Judge  Petty  recollects  that  the  light  was  burning 
at  five  o'clock  yesterday  evening,  and  he  is  positive  that 
there  was  no  shadow  at  the  hall  window,  and  that  no  one  ap- 
proached close  to  it  while  he  was  looking  into  the  light-well. 

"  Now  mark  this  —  at  least,  as  a  singular  coincidence 
—  while  Doctor  Westbrook  is  not  what  you  might  call  left- 
handed,  he  can  use  both  hands  equally  well." 

"  Ambidextrous,"  suggested  Mr.  Mountjoy. 

Converse  nodded.  "Exactly,"  said  he;  "ambidex- 
trous." He  continued: 

"Regarding  the  woman's  identity,  now  there  are  one  or 
two  little  points  deserving  special  attention.  Lynden  states 

[75] 


The  Silver  Blade 

positively  that  he  neither  saw  nor  passed  anybody  in  the  hall 
nor  on  the  stairway;  yet,  there  was  something  about  Mr 
Nettleton's  offices  and  the  indications  of  a  woman's  recent 
presence  there  that  disturbed  him  strangely.  While  in  the 
very  act  of  asserting  that  he  had  neither  seen  nor  passed 
anybody,  he  stopped  as  though  struck  by  a  sudden  doubt, 
although  he  did  not  alter  his  statement.  A  similar  inci- 
dent happened  with  Howe  while  we  were  all  gathered  in  the 
Doctor's  office  last  night  after  the  murder.  He  also  paused 
in  the  midst  of  a  statement  that  there  was  nothing  to  in- 
dicate who  the  assassin  might  be,  and  Lynden  was  im- 
pressed by  his  hesitation,  as  though  it  reminded  him  of  his 
own.  Are  these  gentlemen  trying  to  conceal  anything? 
What  possible  object  could  Howe  have  in  doing  so  ?  Yet  I 
believe  that  both  of  them  are  perturbed  by  some  misgiving 
which  they  hesitate  to  put  into  words.  Their  doubt  may 
contain  the  key  to  the  whole  riddle;  but  it  will  be  a  delicate 
matter  getting  at  it.  Assuming  that  it  points  to  the  lady's 
identity,  we  may  surprise  one  or  the  other  of  them  into 
betraying  it;  but  it  is  no  easy  task  to  make  a  man  speak  of 
something  which  he  will  not  admit  even  to  himself." 


[76] 


CHAPTER  V 

A  TELEGRAM  FROM  MEXICO 

"X  7"OUR  deductions  seem  natural,"  said  Mr.  Mount- 

J[  joy,  at  length.  "But  this  unknown  woman?  Is 
there  any  one  in  the  city  to  whom  you  could  ascribe 
a  motive  ?  Will  you  have  to  go  into  the  past  record  of  Senor 
de  Sanchez  ?  And  Fairchild  —  Heaven  knows  there  can't 
be  anything  between  him  and  such  a  mysterious,  blood- 
thirsty female.  How  are  we  to  account  for  his  participa- 
tion in  the  crime?  I  think  it  well  to  secure  such  a  record; 
also  De  Sanchez's  association  with  General  Westbrook  in 
Mexico.  There  is  no  telling  how  the  darkness  may  be 
illuminated  from  some  unexpected  quarter.  At  present, 
John,  to  me  it  is  completely  baffling." 

But  Mr.  Converse  had  neglected  nothing  that  his  ex- 
perience suggested  as  being  a  likely  means  of  casting  light 
upon  the  crime. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  rejoined,  in  his  steady  manner.  "Yes, 
sir;  I  admit  the  case  offers  many  puzzling  phases,  and 
apparently  contradictory  circumstances;  but  you  must 
remember  that  we  have  been  at  work  on  it  less  than  twenty- 
four  hours;  the  woman's  identity  may  be  shown  in  a  man- 
ner we  cannot  now  imagine,  and  any  hour  may  bring  the 
news  of  Fairchild's  apprehension. 

"Besides,  I  have  been  beforehand  in  looking  up  the 
deceased's  past.  I  should  receive  a  telegram  from  Mexico 
to-day.  The  net  is  well  spread,  I  think.  A  man  is  watch- 

[771 


The  Silver  Blade 

ing  Fairchild's  house  —  in  fact,  the  whole  department  are 
keeping  a  look-out  for  him;  and  the  other  actors  are  being 
shadowed  by  capable  men." 

"But  from  all  the  facts  in  your  possession,"  interrupted 
Mr.    Mountjoy,    "  have   you   considered   the   possibility  — 
aside  from  the  statements  of  the  witnesses,  I  mean,  and 
simply  upon  what  you  know  to  be  the  facts  —  of  either 
Doctor  Westbrook  or  Howard  Lynden  being  the  assassin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have,"  was  the  reply.  "  But  for  the  present 
we  may  dismiss  them  shortly,  though  I  shall  not  cease  to 
consider  every  development  in  this  case  in  the  light  of  its 
possible  application  to  all  the  parties. 

"  Could  the  Doctor,  then,  have  delivered  the  fatal  thrust  ? 
From  the  present  facts  we  must  give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt,  and  abide  the  results  of  further  investigation.  It  is 
very  fortunate  for  him  that  his  friend  Howe  happened  to 
be  present  just  when  he  was;  and  it  is  strange,  his  com- 
ing all  the  way  from  Georgia  to  be  a  piece  in  this  puzzling 
game.  But  here  he  is. 

"Howe's  importance  arises  from  the  peculiar  acoustics 
of  that  portion  of  the  Nettleton  Building  about  Doctor 
Westbrook's  office."  Converse  then  told  of  his  experience 
with  Lynden  in  the  Doctor's  laboratory,  concluding: 
"  It  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  Howe  could  not  hear  a  strug- 
gle in  the  hall,  while,  at  the  same  time,  he  could  hear  such 
faint  sounds  as  the  scratching  of  a  pen  and  the  rustling  of 
paper  while  the  Doctor  was  writing  in  the  reception-room. 

"As  for  Lynden,  we  have  to  show  he  so  quickened  his 
pace  that  he  overtook  De  Sanchez  at  Doctor  Westbrook's 
door.  He  shared  with  all  the  frequenters  of  the  Doctor's 
office  a  knowledge  of  the  dagger  and  where  it  usually  re- 

[78] 


A  Telegram  from  Mexico 

posed.  Under  such  a  theory,  however,  Lynden's  actions 
would  have  displayed  a  carelessness  and  a  reckless  disregard 
for  consequences  which  I  don't  think  the  man  capable  of. 
He  did  not  know  who  had  or  had  not  gone  home  from  the 
other  offices  that  line  the  hall,  and  the  deceased  was  not 
surprised  by  the  sudden  onrush  of  a  determined  murderer. 
Had  such  been  the  case,  how  about  Doctor  Westbrook's  state- 
ment that  De  Sanchez  came  on  steadily  to  the  reception- 
room  door  ?  —  for,  singularly  enough,  in  the  reception-room 
one  can  hear  quite  distinctly  sounds  arising  in  the  hall. 
Besides,  the  Doctor  does  not  remember  having  heard  Lynden 
at  all  until  the  young  man  grasped  his  arm." 

"Well,  now,  tell  us  of  the  cigarette  stubs."  This  from 
the  District  Attorney. 

Converse  picked  them  both  up,  one  in  each  hand,  and 
contemplated  them  with  uplifted  brow  and  puckered  lips. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  began  at  length,  "these  two  snipes 
have  caused  me  more  mental  worry  —  I  have  had  more 
trouble  in  fitting  them  into  any  place  where  they  could  be- 
long —  than  anything  else  concerning  this  case. 

"You  will  observe  that  both  of  them  are  but  half  con- 
sumed, and  that  when  rolled  neither  was  moistened  by  the 
tongue  to  hold  it  together.  Any  one  who  has  travelled  in 
Mexico  or  the  extreme  Southwest  will  recognize  this  as  a 
national  and  local  characteristic.  The  paper  of  both  is 
identical  —  coarse  and  a  dark  brown ;  and  the  tobacco  is 
from  a  black  Mexican  growth.  I  suppose,  outside  the  Mexi- 
can quarter  you  could  not  find  a  man  in  the  city  who  smokes 
such  a  cigarette  —  excepting  .Vargas.  It  is  just  such  a 
cigarette  as  nine  out  of  ten  of  the  lower  class  of  Mexicans 
—  men,  women,  and  children  —  smoke.  Yet  the  tastes 

[791 


The  Silver  Blade 

of  neither  De  Sanchez  nor  Vargas  were  too  fastidious  for 
them;  the  papers  and  tobacco  are  identical  with  those 
found  in  the  deceased's  pocket,  and  they  are  just  like  those 
Mr.  Vargas  smokes. 

"The  first  I  picked  up  near  the  top  of  the  Nettleton 
Building  stairway,  while  I  was  accompanying  Lynden  to 
Doctor  Westbrook's  offices;  the  second  I  found  on  the  sky- 
light at  the  bottom  of  the  light-well.  The  ends  that  had 
been  held  in  the  mouth  were  still  moist  when  I  found  them, 
so  they  had  not  been  long  discarded.  De  Sanchez,  of  course, 
is  responsible  for  the  first;  but  how  about  the  other? 
Could  he,  after  throwing  one  cigarette  away  at  the  point 
where  I  found  the  first,  roll  and  light  another  and  smoke 
it  half  up  as  he  walked  down  the  hall,  then  flip  the  second 
out  the  hall  window  into  the  light-well  just  before  turning 
toward  the  Doctor's  door  ?  I  believe  not. 

"  The  second  could  have  come  from  any  window  abutting 
upon  the  light-well,  of  either  the  Field  or  the  Nettleton 
Buildings.  But  who  threw  it,  and  why  was  he  there  at 
that  particular  time?  Well,  it  took  two  men  more  than 
an  hour  this  morning  to  eliminate  all  except  five  windows 
out  of  a  possible  twenty;  and  those  five  told  nothing.  I 
examined  them  myself.  Yet  it  might  be  possible  that  the 
second  stub  came  from  the  unknown  woman. 

"Did  she  steady  her  nerves  and  beguile  the  time  until 
her  victim's  approach,  with  a  cigarette  ?  It  may  be  — 

Here,  for  the  first  time,  Mr.  Merkel  interrupted. 

"A  Mexican  woman!"  he  fairly  shouted;  "some  dark- 
eyed  senorita  —  "  His  enthusiasm  suddenly  cooled  as  Mr. 
Mountjoy's  look  of  surprise  at  his  outburst  rapidly  changed 
to  one  of  much  meaning. 

[80] 


A  Telegram  from  Mexico 

At  this  juncture  the  door  opened,  and  a  clerk  appeared 
from  the  outer  office,  holding  a  telegram  in  his  hand. 

"For  you,  Captain,"    said  he,  handing  him  the  message, 

Neither  of  the  other  two  could  conceal  his  impatience, 
as,  with  annoying  deliberation,  Converse  opened  the  yel- 
low envelope. 

"Well,"  said  he,  presently,  "it  is  indeed  from  Mexico  — 
the  reply  to  my  inquiry.  Here  it  is."  He  read  aloud: 

A.  de  S.  has  no  police  record,  but  have  obtained  follow- 
ing facts:  Age,  38;  family,  old,  aristocratic,  and  very 
wealthy;  A.  educated  in  Paris;  returned  here  when  twenty- 
one.  Was  in  banking  and  broking  business  several  years 
ago  with  P.  Westbrook,  but  severed  partnership  about  four 
years  ago.  Reason  not  known.  A.  always  prominent  in 
society;  rather  wild  when  young;  but  nearest  approach  to 
woman  entanglements  are  following:  Engagement  broken 
with  Senorita  Aurora  de  Pacheco.  Understood  to  have 
been  by  reason  of  disagreement  in  marriage  settlements. 
She  has  since  married  into  prominent  family,  and  now  on 
best  of  terms  with  De  S.  family.  A  rumored  liaison  with 
a  circus  performer,  supposed  to  have  committed  suicide, 
but  unable  to  ascertain  details;  liaison  with  a  Mme.  Claude 
Le  Tellier,  now  residing  Nice,  France,  on  pension  from  De 
S.  family.  For  last  twelve  years  A.  de  S.  known  as  unusually 
steady.  Rumored  he  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Westbrook 
when  she  visited  here  about  four  years  ago,  and  that  he  has 
followed  her  for  purpose  of  marrying.  GRINNELL. 

"Well!"  said  the  District  Attorney,  "this  is  not  promis- 
ing: Senorita  Somebody "-  — with  a  sidewise  look  at  Mr. 
Merkel  — "  now  a  matron  and  probably  the  mother  of  other 
senoritas ;  a  circus  performer  — 

"It's  the  madame  that  interests  me,"  Converse  quietly 

[81] 


The  Silver  Blade 

broke  in.  "Grinnell  would  not,  of  course,  know  whether 
she  is  in  Nice  at  the  present  time.  I  will  go  to  headquarters, 
ascertain  who  our  correspondent  at  that  place  is,  and  send 
him  the  lady's  name.  That  should  bring  us  what  we  want 
to  know  about  her. 

"That  is  about  all  now,"  he  concluded.  "I  have  gone 
over  these  different  phases  of  the  case  in  order  that  you  might 
formulate  a  line  of  inquiry  to  be  followed  at  the  inquest. 
In  the  meantime,  I  will  work  out  one  or  two  little  ideas  of 
my  own,  laying  the  results  before  you  as  soon  as  they  mature. 
Good  morning." 

That  day  Mr.  Converse  received  two  more  messages,  one 
of  them  a  cable  despatch.  The  first  read : 

Rumor  connecting  A.  de  S.  with  circus  performer  very 
vague.  Seems  to  have  occurred  in  Paris  17  or  18  years  ago. 
No  trace  of  her  identity  here.  GRINNELL. 

The  cablegram  contained  the  following: 

Mme.  C.  Le  T.  died  Oct.  28.  GAILLARD. 

He  tossed  the  cable  message  to  one  side;  but  for  several 
minutes  he  pondered  over  the  second  message  from  Mexico. 
He  then  prepared,  with  much  care,  a  long  despatch,  which 
was  sent  immediately  to  Paris. 

Away  from  the  presence  of  his  superiors  and  those  whose 
concern  it  was  to  be  put  in  possession  of  everything  bear- 
ing upon  the  case,  John  Converse  was  the  last  man  to 
advance  any  theory  to  account  for  Alberto  de  Sanchez's  un- 
toward end. 

[82] 


A  Telegram  from  Mexico 

His  seemingly  unerring  judgment  and  his  uniform  success 
in  dissipating  the  clouds  of  mystery  in  which  his  associates 
sometimes  lost  themselves  were  governed  by  an  extreme 
caution,  and  based  upon  a  vast  knowledge  of  humanity. 
His  had  been  an  unusually  eventful  life.  Of  New  England 
parentage,  he  had  early  run  away  to  sea;  and  to  portray  the 
stirring  experiences  of  this  period  of  his  life  would  require 
a  whole  volume  for  itself. 

But  those  experiences  had  given  him  wonderful  powers 
of  observation,  which  were  able  to  grasp  and  contemplate 
every  detail  in  its  just  proportions  to  the  whole,  a  trait  that 
was  simply  the  complement  to  his  unemotional  and  method- 
ical temperament. 

If  he  hesitated,  however,  in  advancing  theories,  the  papers 
did  not, —  either  probable  or  improbable ;  and  as  it  was 
one  of  his  maxims  never  to  ignore  a  suggestion  coming 
from  the  outside,  he  followed  these  reports  with  the  same 
intensity  of  eagerness  that  characterized  all  his  proceedings. 

The  murder,  owing  not  only  to  the  prominence  of  every 
one  concerned  therein,  but  also  to  the  suggestive  veil  of 
mystery  which  surrounded  it,  had  been  "featured"  every 
day  since  the  tragedy,  and  he  was  impressed  by  the  unanimity 
with  which  the  press  hit  upon  Robert  Nettleton's  offices  as 
the  probable  lurking-place  of  the  murderer. 

None  of  the  papers,  of  course,  was  in  as  full  possession 
of  all  the  known  facts  as  the  Captain  was;  but  a  certain 
evening  sheet,  after  theorizing  at  length  on  Fairchild's  un- 
accountable disappearance,  concluded  with  the  assertion 
that  the  end  would  show  the  controlling  factor  of  the  mys- 
terious murder  to  have  been  a  woman. 

"  I  believe  that  gentleman  is  eminently  correct,"  was  the 

[83] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Captain's  comment,  as  he  laid  the  paper  aside.  "  If  his 
insight  had  been  only  a  little  clearer,  if  he  had  looked  only 
a  little  farther,  and  seen  who  that  woman  is,  it  would  save 
a  deal  of  trouble  and  worry." 

He  left  his  private  office  and  walked  to  the  mail  repository 
at  the  police  clerk's  desk.  He  found  several  letters  addressed 
to  himself;  but  one,  the  writing  of  which  was  very  like 
copper-plate  engraving,  caught  his  instant  attention  by  the 
peculiarity  of  its  address.  It  read : 


After  the  Captain  had  returned  to  his  desk  he  turned  his 
attention  to  this  letter.  The  mark  of  the  cancelling-machine 
showed  that  it  had  been  mailed  at  the  main  post-office  that 
morning.  What  the  envelope  contained  made  him  suddenly 
sit  upright. 

The  writer  knows  that  C.  Fairchild  had  no  hand  in  the 
murder  of  the  man  De  Sanchez.  When  you  discover  the 
female  who  was  in  the  second  story  of  the  Nettleton  on  Wed. 
p.  M.,  Nov.  4,  at  the  hour  of  5,  you  will  know  why  C.  F.  has 
vanished. 

Again  —  the  unknown  woman ! 

There  was  no  address  to  this  brief  epistle,  no  date,  no 
signature  —  nothing  else;  yet  there  was  an  added  light  in 
Mr.  Converse's  gray  eyes,  as  he  laid  the  missive  on  the  desk 
before  him,  that  lent  something  like  an  expression  of  satis- 
faction to  his  almost  illegible  countenance.  He  scrutinized 

[84] 


A  Telegram  from  Mexico 

the  single  sheet  of  paper  long  and  attentively  before  finally 
folding  and  returning  it  to  the  envelope. 

"  Who  in  the  city  can  write  such  a  hand  ?  "  he  mused. 

After  he  had  placed  the  anonymous  missive  in  his 
pocket-book,  he  drew  toward  himself  a  number  of  bound 
typewritten  sheets  —  the  record  of  the  De  Sanchez  case. 
Turning  until  he  found  the  paragraphs  he  sought,  he  read 
the  following: 

Besides  the  front  entrance,  opening  into  Court  Street, 
the  Nettleton  has  but  one  other  outside  doorway  or  means 
of  exit.  Opening  into  a  high-walled  court  in  the  rear 
is  a  single  door,  used  only  for  the  purpose  of  admitting 
fuel  in  the  winter;  during  the  summer  it  is  open  not  more 
than  once  or  twice,  when  the  trash-bin  accumulations  are 
removed.  During  the  interim  it  is  locked  by  a  bolt,  a  No.  4 
Yale  compound  spring  lock,  and  a  common  padlock  passed 
through  staples.  Inspection  of  this  door  revealed  beyond 
doubt  that  it  had  not  been  disturbed  for  weeks. 

The  reader  turned  back  to  the  statements  of  the  different 
persons  in  the  second  story  at  the  fatal  moment,  and  his 
glance  passed  them  all  over  until  it  fell  upon  the  following : 

William  Slade,  62;  bachelor;  abstracter  of  titles  for  the 
Guaranty  Trust  Co.  Is  very  deaf;  was  engaged  in  his 
regular  duties  in  Room  6  on  the  evening  of  Nov.  4,  at  5 
o'clock,  yet  it  cannot  be  shown  that  he  knew  anything  of  the 
murder.  His  statement  is  to  the  effect  that  he  first  learned  of 
it  at  about  8:30  o'clock  that  night." 

He  closed  the  volume,  placed  it  in  a  drawer  of  his  desk, 
and  after  securing  his  hat,  left  department  headquarters, 
and  made  his  way  to  Court  Street. 

[85] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Here  he  consumed  the  better  part  of  the  day  by  inter- 
rogating closely  every  individual  whose  place  of  business 
had  an  outlook  toward  the  Nettleton  entrance,  a  quest  the 
results  of  which  were  purely  negative.  He  called  at  all 
the  newspaper  offices;  and  the  next  morning,  again  in  the 
evening,  and  for  a  week  thereafter,  every  local  paper  con- 
tained the  following  advertisement : 


$25  —  REWARD  —  $  26. 

The  above  sum  will  be  paid  any  person  who  saw 
a  lady  leave  the  Nettleton  Building  at  or  about  5 
o'clock  on  the  evening  of  Wednesday,  Nov.  4th. 
Apply  In  person  at  No.  18  Ash  Lane. 


The  address  given  was  that  of  the  house  where  Mr.  Con- 
verse had  his  lodgings ;  and  whatever  else  he  might  think  of 
the  De  Sanchez  case,  it  was  evident  he  had  become  con- 
vinced that  there  was  "a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it" —  and 
one  very  hard  to  find. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  after  he  had  returned  to  his  private 
office,  he  found  the  reply  to  the  cable  message  sent  his  Paris 
correspondent  awaiting  him.  He  opened  it  and  read : 

Nothing  ascertainable  of  A.  de  S.  here  further  than  that 
his  name  appears  on  the  roster  of  College  of  St.  Ignatius  for 
three  years,  inclusive,  September,  1883,  to  September,  1886. 
Examination  of  records  of  women  suicides  during  period 
fails  to  connect  him  with  any  of  them.  No  one  during  that 
time  or  near  it  could  be  circus  performer.  Might  glean 
something  if  I  had  name.  NOIZET. 

Unfortunately,  he  had  no  name  to  send. 


[86] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  INQUEST 

MR.  MERKEL  was  not  in  readiness  for  the  inquest 
into  the  Nettleton  Building  affair  until  the  Monday 
following;  and  at  the  hour  set  for  the  hearing  the 
outer  of  his  two  offices,  which  made  a  fairly  large  court- 
room, was  literally  packed  by  a  throng  of  gaping,  perspiring 
spectators. 

In  a  corner  by  themselves  sat  the  witnesses  who  were  to 
testify.  General  Westbrook  is  of  this  group;  also  J.  Howard 
Lynden,  plainly  ill  at  ease.  The  Doctor  and  his  friend, 
Ferdinand  Howe,  are  seated  behind  the  General,  an  expres- 
sion of  concern  on  their  countenances  that  is  noted  and 
commented  on  by  the  crowd.  Why  should  Dr.  Westbrook 
be  so  pale  ?  Why  should  his  face  be  so  drawn  ?  The  affair 
is  not  of  such  consequence  to  him. 

Still  aloof  from  the  others  sits  Senor  Vargas,  lean  and 
swarthy,  his  eyes  still  dull  behind  their  gold-rimmed  pince- 
nez,  and  his  pitted  countenance  not  yet  quickened  to  an 
interest  by  the  sudden  tragic  death  of  his  compatriot.  Oc- 
casionally he  coughs  in  a  manner  that  seems  to  afford 
Doctor  Westbrook  some  diversion  from  his  own  pressing 
care,  for  now  and  then  he  glances  toward  the  Mexican 
gentleman  with  quite  a  professional  air. 

At  length  the  door  to  the  Coroner's  private  office  opens, 
and  through  it  file  Mr.  Merkel,  self-important,  Mr.  Mount- 
joy,  John  Converse,  a  stenographer,  and  various  clerks 

[87] 


The  Silver  Blade 


PARTIAL  PLAN  OF  THE  SECOND  FLOOR  OF  THE   FIELD 
AND  NETTLETON  BUILDINGS 


(A)  Clay  Fail-child's  Desk.  (B)  Mr.  Nettletpn's  Desk.  (C)  Window  at 
which  Judge  Petty  Stood.  (D)  Window  at  which  Mr.  Howe  Stood.  (E) 
Doctor  Westbrook's  Desk.  (*)  Marks  Spot  where  De  Sanchez  Fell 

[88] 


The  Inquest 

and  petty  officials.  Converse,  the  Coroner,  and  the  District 
Attorney  seat  themselves  about  a  separate  table  away  from 
one  occupied  by  numerous  reporters  and  newspaper  artists; 
and  immediately  the  tedious  ordeal  of  securing  a  jury  is 
entered  upon. 

After  six  freeholders  are  accepted  and  sworn  in,  the 
captain  of  detectives  is  duly  put  upon  his  oath  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  A  brief 
delay  follows  while  the  District  Attorney  asks  for  an  appli- 
cation of  the  rule  excluding  witnesses.  The  witnesses  are 
duly  excluded. 

Captain  Converse  established  the  corpus  delicti;  after 
which  he  related  at  length  the  results  of  his  investigation, 
very  much  as  he  already  had  told  them  to  Mr.  Mountjoy 
and  the  Coroner. 

As  he  returned  to  his  seat  by  the  table,  a  stir  spread 
throughout  the  apartment;  a  rustling  as  of  forest  leaves 
before  a  tempest  sibilated  upon  one  theme:  the  unknown 
woman;  but  the  sounds  sank  at  once  to  anticipatory  silence 
when  the  clerk  arose  and  made  ready  to  read  from  a  sheet 
of  paper  in  his  hand  the  name  of  the  next  witness.  Perhaps 
the  avid  curiosity  is  to  be  satisfied  by  the  woman's  name. 

"  James  Howard  Lynden." 

On  the  wall  facing  the  witness-chair  was  suspended  a 
large  map  of  those  portions  of  the  Nettleton  and  Field  build- 
ings which  formed  the  locus  operandi  of  the  tragedy,  and  this 
Lynden  contemplated  seriously.  The  rooms  were  named 
and  numbered  thereon,  the  points  of  interest  designated  by 
letters  or  otherwise;  and  the  reader  is  here  referred  to  the 
plan  (page  88),  as  occasion  may  arise,  for  a  clearer  un- 
derstanding of  the  evidence. 

[891 


The  Silver  Blade 

The  witness  began  his  testimony  in  a  well-modulated 
voice,  which  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  every  part  of  the 
room.  In  reply  to  interrogatories,  he  stated  that  he  was  a 
cotton-broker,  twenty-eight  years  of  age,  and  that  his  office 
was  in  Court  Street,  a  few  doors  west  of  the  Nettleton  Build- 
ing. He  had  been  acquainted  with  the  deceased,  having  met 
him  frequently  in  a  social  way,  but  between  them  there  had 
never  been  more  than  ordinary  civilities  exchanged.  He 
next  related  such  facts  of  the  tragedy  as  he  had  imparted 
to  Mr.  Converse  and  the  Chief  of  Police.  The  Coroner 
asked: 

"What  time  did  you  leave  your  office  on  the  evening 
of  November  fourth  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  very  few  minutes  to  five  o'clock." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Lynden,  begin  at  the  time  you  left  your  office, 
and  describe  in  detail  the  events  from  then  onward." 

"I  merely  walked  leisurely  toward  the  Nettleton  Build- 
ing for  the  purpose  of  stopping  at  Doctor  Westbrook's  office, 
before  proceeding  to  my  club  for  dinner.  I  have  been  in 
the  habit  of  doing  this  several  evenings  in  the  week,  and 
last  Wednesday  evening  was  no  more  eventful  than  scores 
of  others  until  I  arrived  within  forty  or  fifty  feet  of  the  Net- 
tleton entrance." 

"  And  what  occurred  then  ?  " 

"I  observed  Senor  de  Sanchez  turn  in  at  the  entrance." 

"What  direction  was  he  going  when  you  first  observed 
him?" 

"  West  —  toward  me." 

"Very  well;  proceed,  Mr.  Lynden." 

"  I  continued  on  to  the  doorway,  where  I  turned  into  the 
Nettleton  Building,  going  directly  upstairs  without  pausing." 

[90] 


The  Inquest 

"  Did  you  see  Senor  de  Sanchez  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Just  as  I  began  ascending  the  stairs  he  was  turn- 
ing to  the  right  —  to  the  east  —  at  the  top.  There  was  a 
lighted  incandescent  lamp  at  that  point,  and  I  beheld  him 
distinctly." 

"  Do  you  know  what  time  that  was  ?  " 

"It  could  have  been  only  two  or  three  seconds  to  five 
o'clock,  for  I  heard  the  whistles  begin  to  blow  before  I  reached 
the  top  of  the  stairs." 

"You  are  sure  it  was  before  you  arrived  at  the  top  that 
you  heard  the  whistles  blow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  have  n't  a  doubt  of  it.  I  remember  the  cir- 
cumstance perfectly." 

"  Now,  when  you  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  —  at  the 
second  story  —  did  you  see  Senor  de  Sanchez  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  I  saw  him  no  more  until  I  arrived  at  Doctor 
Westbrook's  office  —  until  I  beheld  him  dying  on  the  floor 
of  the  Doctor's  reception-room." 

Responding  to  a  number  of  interrogations,  the  witness 
added  that  not  more  than  thirty  seconds  elapsed  between 
the  time  of  his  seeing  De  Sanchez  turn  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
and  seeing  him  lying  on  the  reception-room  floor;  that 
there  was  a  lighted  incandescent  lamp  before  the  entrance 
to  this  room ;  that  there  had  been  no  one  in  the  hall,  and  that 
it  was  impossible  for  anybody  to  have  been  concealed  there. 
He  continued: 

"When  I  arrived  at  Doctor  Westbrook's  office  the  door 
was  wide  open.  Senor  de  Sanchez  was  lying  on  his  right 
side,  his  feet  toward  the  door,  and  not  much  more  than 
a  yard  beyond  the  threshold.  Blood  was  spurting,  —  in 
rhythm  with  the  heart-beats,  it  seemed,  —  from  a  wound 

[91] 


The  Silver  Blade 

in  his  throat,  as  though  some  large  artery  had  been  severed. 
This  ceased  in  a  second  or  two. 

"  I  paused  just  at  the  threshold,  dazed  and  utterly  dum- 
founded  by  the  sight  that  met  my  eyes.  Doctor  Westbrook, 
Mr.  Howe,  and  myself  held  our  respective  attitudes  three 
or  four  seconds, —  possibly  it  was  longer, —  but  during  that 
time  Senor  de  Sanchez  only  breathed  two  long  sighs  and 
became  apparently  dead. 

"  I  believe,  then,  I  was  first  to  speak.  '  Good  God, 
Mobley ! '  I  cried,  '  What  does  this  mean  ? '  He  still  seemed 
dazed  and  made  no  reply.  I  advanced  into  the  room  and 
seized  his  arm,  and  said,  'For  God's  sake,  tell  me!  Did 
you  do  this  ? '  I  was  very  much  excited,  and  could  not 
grasp  the  full  import  of  what  I  beheld;  but  when  he  felt 
my  touch,  he  aroused  himself,  and,  recoiling  a  step  or  two, 
cried  in  tones  of  amazement,  'Jim!  Jim!  I  do  this?  My 
God,  Jim!  No,  no,  no!'  Then  checking  himself,  he  asked 
me,  'But  who  did?  You  must  have  seen;  who  was  in  the 
hall,  man  ? ' 

"I  next  looked  at  Mr.  Howe.  He  was  exceedingly 
agitated  and  said  nothing.  He  stood  shaking  his  head 
like  one  whose  mind  could  not  digest  the  horror  of  the  deed. 
I  turned  again  to  Doctor  Westbrook  and  looked  at  the 
silver-bladed  dagger  he  was  holding  in  his  hand.  'But 
that  dagger,'  I  said,  '  what  does  that  mean  ? '  He  looked  at 
it  in  a  preoccupied  manner,  as  though  he  did  not  see  it. 
Suddenly  becoming  sensible  of  the  fact  that  he  was  holding 
it  in  his  hand,  he  exclaimed,  'You  don't  think  7  stabbed 
him,  do  you  ?  Why,  man,  I  just  drew  the  knife  from  the 
wound.'  I  felt  immensely  relieved." 

A  deep  exhalation  burst  from  the  massed  throng,  as 

[82] 


The  Inquest 

though  they  had  been  holding  their  breath  in  an  anxiety  not 
to  miss  a  word  of  this  recital.  Under  the  influence  of  this 
eagerness  and  galvanic  expectancy,  Lynden  was  growing 
restless;  but  he  kept  his  gaze  on  the  coroner,  and  con- 
tinued to  respond  to  that  official's  interrogations  without 
hesitation.  In  answer  to  a  number  of  these,  witness  said: 

"I  did  not  identify  the  dagger  at  the  time.  I  am  thor- 
oughly familiar  with  the  ornamental  little  weapon  which 
Doctor  Westbrook  uses  as  a  paper-knife,  and  have  handled 
it  many  times.  In  fact,  I  was  present  when  it  was  given  the 
Doctor  by  his  sister.  She  secured  it,  I  believe,  about  four 
years  ago,  during  a  visit  to  Mexico,  and  at  the  time  of  the 
presentation  she  told  a  story  —  quite  a  tragic  romance  — 
in  which  it  had  —  " 

"We  may  omit  that,  Mr.  Lynden,"  interrupted  the 
Coroner.  "  Where  did  Doctor  Westbrook  usually  keep  this 
dagger,  or  paper-knife  ?  " 

"  When  not  in  use,  it  always  lay  on  the  table  in  his  recep- 
tion room." 

Every  eye  was  turned  toward  the  dagger  as  Mr.  Merkel 
arose  and  took  it  in  his  hand.  And  not  one  of  those  eyes 
missed  the  sombre  stains  which  now  dulled  the  lustre  of  its 
silvery  blade. 

"Is  this  the  dagger?" 

"That  is  the  one  that  lay  on  Doctor  Westbrook's  table 
—  his  paper-knife.  I  am  unable  to  identify  it  with  the  one 
he  held  in  his  hand;  the  hilt  was  then  concealed,  and  the 
blade  was  very  bloody ;  but  it  might  be  —  I  had  no  such 
thought  at  the  time." 

Mr.  Merkel  returned  the  dagger  to  the  table  and  resumed 
his  seat.  The  District  Attorney  leaned  toward  him  and 


The  Silver  Blade 

whispered  a  few  words;   whereupon  —  evidently  on  a  sug- 
gestion —  he  asked : 

"Are  you  familiar  with  the  arrangement  of  the  second 
floor  of  the  Nettleton  Building,  Mr.  Lynden,  —  more  par- 
ticularly, those  rooms  to  the  right  or  east  of  the  stairway  ?  " 

"lam." 

"  Describe  them,  please." 

Once  more  Lynden  fixed  his  attention  upon  the  plan 
suspended  before  him. 

"Well,  to  begin  with,  the  Nettleton  Building  faces  in  a 
southerly  direction.  From  the  head  of  the  stairway  the 
hall  extends  east  to  the  light-well  between  the  Nettleton  and 
Field  buildings.  Beginning  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  the 
first  room  to  the  right,  or  on  the  south  side  of  the  hall,  is  the 
first  office  of  the  Guaranty  Trust  Company;  the  next  suite 
is  vacant,  and  then  comes  Doctor  Westbrook's  suite.  I  may 
add,  that  the  numbers  run  in  the  order  I  am  naming  the 
suites:  the  Guaranty  Trust  Company's  offices  are  number 
one,  number  two  is  unoccupied,  and  the  Doctor's  is  number 
three. 

"Now,  passing  over  to  the  north  side  of  the  hall,  the 
entrance  to  number  four  is  directly  opposite  Doctor  West- 
brook's.  It  is  the  door  to  Mr.  Nettleton's  private  office. 
Next  to  that,  and  facing  the  unoccupied  suite,  is  Room  5, 
Mr.  Nettleton's  general  office.  Adjoining  this  is  number 
six,  a  room  occupied  by  the  Guaranty  Trust  Company  as  a 
record  and  abstract  room.  That  brings  us  back  to  the  stair- 
way again,  but  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall  whence  we 
started." 

"  Then  there  are  six  doors  —  three  on  each  side  —  open- 
ing into  the  hall  ?" 

[94] 


The  Inquest 

"That  is  correct." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Lynden,  are  not  the  upper  portions  of  those 
doors  ground  or  frosted  glass  ? " 

At  this  apparently  harmless  and  irrelevant  question,  the 
witness's  composure  dropped  from  him  like  a  cloak  cast 
aside;  a  swift,  startled  expression  came  into  his  light  blue 
eyes,  and  he  answered  with  obvious  hesitation : 

"I  believe  so." 

"  Don't  you  know  ? 

"Yes." 

"Well,  are  they?" 

"Yes." 

"Then,  if  a  light  were  burning  in  one  of  those  rooms 
and  a  person  should  be  standing  close  to  the  door  of  that 
room,  and  on  the  inside,  would  there  not  be  a  pretty  distinct 
shadow  or  silhouette  of  that  person  on  the  ground  glass  of 
that  particular  door  ?  " 

"  I  should  imagine  there  would,"  said  Lynden  at  length, 
but  in  a  voice  both  low  and  unnatural. 

"Well,  in  your  frequent  visits  to  Doctor  Westbrook's 
office  at  such  hours  as  the  lamps  were  lighted,  have  you  not 
observed  that  to  be  a  fact  ?  " 

Without  altering  his  attitude,  the  young  man  shook  his 
head. 

"No,"  said  he;  " I  cannot  say  that  I  have." 

At  the  next  question  an  audible  murmur  of  disappoint- 
ment rippled  through  the  room.  It  was  as  though  the 
Coroner  were  searching  for  something  while  blindfolded, 
and  had  suddenly  taken  the  wrong  turning  when  about  to 
lay  his  hand  on  the  object  of  his  quest.  But  if  he  was  not 
over-astute,  he  had  at  least  gathered  wisdom  from  experi- 

[95] 


The  Silver  Blade 

ence  —  to  the  extent  of  knowing  that  more  than  one  road 
leads  to  Rome. 

"Now,  then,  Mr.  Lynden,"  he  began  once  more,  "when 
you  arrived  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  on  the  evening  of  Novem- 
ber fourth,  did  you  look  down  the  length  of  the  hall  to  your 
right  —  to  the  east  ?  " 

Witness  answered,  with  visible  relief: 

"I  did." 

"  How  light  was  it  ?  Was  it  light  enough  for  you  to  see 
distinctly  ? " 

"In  addition  to  the  two  incandescents,  the  window  at 
the  end  of  the  hall  at  the  light-well  was  wide  open  and  it 
was  only  twilight  outdoors." 

"  Then,  if  anybody  had  been  in  the  hall  anywhere  between 
the  head  of  the  stairs  and  the  light-well  window,  you  would 
have  seen  him  ?  " 

"I  certainly  should;  there  was  no  one  there." 

"I  must  ask  you  to  recollect  carefully,  Mr.  Lynden: 
Was  there  a  lady  —  a  woman  —  in  the  hall  ?  Or  did  you 
pass  a  woman  either  in  the  hall  or  on  the  stairway  ?  " 

"Lady!"  the  witness  exclaimed.  "No  —  no;  there 
was  no  lady  —  there  was  no  one  in  the  hall  or  on  the  stairs." 
He  cast  a  furtive,  uneasy  glance  at  the  expressionless  visage 
of  Mr.  Converse,  concluding,  "I  neither  saw  nor  passed 
any  one." 

"  Well,  let  us  return  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  When 
you  arrived  there,  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  proceeded  directly  to  Doctor  Westbrook's  office." 

"  As  you  walked  down  the  hall,  did  you  observe  the  doors 
on  either  side  —  whether  they  were  open  or  closed  ?  " 

Here  was  a  return  to  those  mysterious  doors.  The 

[96] 


The  Inquest 

young  man's  grip  on  the  chair-arms  tightened,  and  once 
again  his  answer  was  preceded  by  obvious  hesitancy. 

"Some  were  entirely  closed,"  he  said,  slowly;  "others 
were  more  or  less  open." 

"  Well,  which  ones  were  more  or  less  open  ?  " 

"Doctor  Westbrook's  was—  "  he  began;  but  the  Coroner 
quickly  interrupted: 

"  Did  you  notice  it  first  ?  " 

Silence.     The  young  man  sat  rigid  as  a  statue. 

"Please  answer,  Mr.  Lynden." 

The  insistence  was  soft,  but  inexorable.  The  witness 
seemed  to  have  lost  the  power  of  speech,  and  was  obliged 
to  clear  his  throat  before  he  could  reply. 

"  Sir,"  he  finally  began,  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  doors, 
nor  was  I  particularly  observing  whether  they  were  open  or 
closed.  I  will  say  this,  however,  in  the  hope  that  you  will 
find  the  information  you  desire :  that  it  is  customary  for  the 
tenants  of  the  Nettleton  Building  to  leave  their  doors  un- 
fastened when  departing  in  the  evening,  for  the  benefit  of 
the  janitor.  As  soon  as  he  has  cleaned  the  rooms,  he  locks 
the  doors  for  the  night.  For  that  reason,  I  suppose,  it  would 
be  safe  to  assume  that  those  rooms  whence  the  occupants 
had  gone  for  the  night  were  unlocked  —  in  the  event,  of 
course,  that  the  janitor  had  not  yet  placed  them  in  order." 

"  The  information  is  valuable,  Mr.  Lynden ;  but  you  stated 
that  some  doors  were  entirely  closed,  while  others  were  more 
or  less  open.  I  will  put  my  question  in  another  way.  Which 
was  the  first  door  you  observed  to  be  entirely  closed  ?  " 

"That  to  number  six." 

"  Was  there  a  light  in  that  room  ?  " 

"Yes." 

[971 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  Did  you  observe  any  shadow  on  the  door  ?  " 

"No." 

"  The  next  door  you  noticed  to  be  closed  —  which  was  it  ?  " 

"The  regular  offices  of  the  Guaranty  Trust  Company." 

"Any  light  there?" 

"They  were  dark." 

"  Well,  the  next  door  you  noticed  to  be  closed  entirely  ?  " 

With  a  visibly  growing  reluctance  to  answer,  each  mo- 
ment his  voice  becoming  more  and  more  strained,  the  young 
man  replied: 

"  Number  two  —  the  vacant  suite." 

But  the  interrogations  were  relentless. 

"The  next?" 

He  moistened  his  lips,  and  his  voice  was  barely  audible. 

"I  observed  no  other  doors  closed,"  said  he. 

"  Now,  then,  we  have  got  this  far  —  note  it,  please,  Mr. 
Stenographer, —  we  have  got  this  far:  The  doors  to  numbers 
one,  two,  and  six  were  closed.  That  leaves  three,  four,  and 
five  —  were  they  open  or  closed  ?  " 

No  one  heard  the  reply. 

"Louder,  if  you  please;  the  jury  can't  hear  you." 

"I  said  that  number  three  was  open." 

"You  have  already  testified  that  Doctor  Westbrook's 
door  was  open,"  was  the  dry  remark  with  which  his  answer 
was  met.  "  Was  number  four  open  ?  " 

"I  did  not  notice." 

"  Not  notice  ?  "  in  a  tone  of  intense  surprise.  "  Did  you 
not  see  it  ?  " 

"  Sir,  when  I  had  arrived  at  that  point  I  was  so  shocked 
by  the  sight  in  the  Doctor's  office  that  I  did  not  observe  the 
condition  of  doors  or  windows." 

[98] 


The  Inquest 

"  Well,  as  you  passed  the  door  to  Room  5  —  Mr.  Nettle- 
ton's  general  office  —  you  had  not  yet  heard  or  beheld  any- 
thing shocking,  had  you?  Did  you  notice  whether  it  was 
open  or  closed  ?  " 

There  was  an  enthralling  significance  in  the  witness's 
manner  which  everybody  present  felt,  and  a  conviction  was 
natural  that  the  young  man  knew  something  that  he  was 
resolved  at  any  cost  not  to  reveal.  It  was  exasperating 
that  the  Coroner  should  so  play  about  the  mainspring  of 
the  witness's  discomposure  —  as  he  plainly  was  doing  — 
without  being  able  to  light  upon  a  point  that  must  force  from 
him  some  admission,  sufficient  at  least  to  serve  as  a  fulcrum 
whereby  the  rest  might  be  pried  from  him. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Lynden,  the  jury  awaits  your  answer." 

The  witness's  reply  came  hoarsely,  as  if  it  were  indeed 
literally  dragged  forth : 

"  It  was  not  closed  —  entirely." 

"  Ah,  one  of  the  '  more  or  less '  doors :  which  was  it,  more 
or  less?" 

"  I  do  not  understand. " 

"  Was  the  door  to  Room  5  of  Mr.  Nettleton's  suite  open 
or  closed ;  and  if  not  closed,  how  far  was  it  open  ?  " 

The  young  man  lowered  his  head  a  moment  in  an  atti- 
tude of  reflection. 

"I  should  say  it  stood  ajar  about  three  or  four  inches," 
was  the  reply. 

"  Was  there  a  light  in  that  room  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Is  there  not  a  desk  against  the  east  wall  of  that  room  at 
which  Clay  Fairchild  ordinarily  sits,  which  is  visible  from 
the  hall  when  the  door  is  three  or  four  inches  ajar  ?  " 

[99] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Yes." 

"On  the  evening  of  November  fourth,  as  you  passed 
Room  5,  did  you  observe  this  desk  ?" 

"  I  did  not;  I  could  not  see  into  the  room." 

Both  Mr.  Converse  and  Mr.  Mountjoy  were  watching 
him  through  lids  narrowed  to  mere  slits,  with  an  intentness 
of  which  he  was  plainly  sensible. 

"And  why  not?"  came  the  next  question.  Lynden 
faltered : 

"  Be  —  because  the  —  the  aperture  was  closed  by  —  by 
something." 

"By  what?" 

"I  cannot  say." 

"  Was  it  a  human  form  ?  " 

Witness's  voice  was  again  becoming  inaudible. 

"I  —  I  cannot  say,"  said  he,  nervously, —  "yes,  it 
was  a  human  form." 

"  Was  it  that  of  a  man  or  a  woman  ?  " 

So  low  that  the  jury,  leaning  as  far  forward  as  they  could, 
scarcely  caught  the  murmur,  came  the  answer: 

"  It  —  it  looked  like  a  woman." 

"  Did  you  recognize  her  ?  " 

Witness  considered  his  response  a  long  time.  When 
finally  it  came,  a  sigh  of  disappointment  welled  from  the 
crowd;  it  seemed  that  after  all  the  baiting  his  examination 
was  to  come  to  naught. 

"No,"  said  he. 

The  Coroner  persisted. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Lynden,"  said  he,  "was  there  not  something 
about  that  form  that  struck  you  as  being  familiar  ?  —  that 
suggested  the  individuality  of  the  person  standing  there  ?  " 

[100] 


The  Inquest 

"I  tell  you  I  do  not  know  who  it  was;  I  do  not  know," 
burst  from  the  witness.  "  Whatever  I  beheld,  if  it  was  any 
one  or  anything  at  all,  is  but  a  shadow  in  my  mind,  —  a 
nameless  shadow,  void  of  substance  and  form,  and  a  name- 
less shadow  it  must  remain.  I  can  add  no  more  to  that, 
sir,  nor  shall  I  try." 

Unless  the  witness  had  chosen  deliberately  to  lie,  it  was 
evident  that  he  could  tell  no  more  of  the  vague  figure  —  that 
it  was  indeed  only  a  shadow  —  and  not  pursuing  this  line  of 
inquiry  further,  the  Coroner  took  up  another. 

After  Mr.  Merkel  and  the  District  Attorney  had  conferred 
together  with  heads  bowed  over  the  table,  the  former  began. 

"Mr.  Lynden,"  said  he,  "you  say  you  enjoy  friendly 
relations  with  General  Westbrook's  family.  Have  you 
recently  heard  any  rumors  connecting  the  name  of  Senor  de 
Sanchez  with  any  member  of  that  family  in  a  matrimonial 
way  ? " 

"  I  have  heard  such  rumors  —  yes ;  but  nothing  more. 
I  certainly  have  heard  nothing  to  that  effect  from  any  one 
in  a  position  to  know." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  Doctor  Westbrook  deny  the  possi- 
bility of  such  a  marriage  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"  Last  Tuesday  night." 

"  The  night  before  Senor  de  Sanchez's  death  ?  " 

"Yes." 

As  the  Doctor  himself  further  on  relates  at  length  the  sub- 
stance of  what  occurred  between  him  and  De  Sanchez  the 
night  before  the  latter's  death,  it  may  here  be  omitted  from 
Lynden's  testimony.  The  only  other  point  touched  upon 

[101] 


The  Silver  Blade 

while  this  witness  was  upon  the  stand  was  shown  in  the 
following  question : 

"On  the  evening  of  November  fourth,  when  you  saw 
De  Sanchez  turn  in  at  the  Nettleton  Building  entrance,  did 
you  observe  whether  he  was  smoking  ? " 

"I  did  not." 

"That  is  all,  Mr.  Lynden;  you  may  step  aside." 

With  what  relief  he  descended  from  the  dais  supporting 
the  witness-chair  can  only  be  imagined.  The  examination 
of  the  first  witness  in  the  De  Sanchez  case  had  been  a  long  and 
tedious  affair.  And  what  was  there  to  show  for  it?  Not 
much  more  than  the  public  already  knew;  and  there  re- 
mained the  woman  —  still  unknown.  And  Mr.  Lynden's 
extreme  agitation  —  what  did  that  signify  ?  If  he  did  not 
know  the  woman  —  if  what  he  had  beheld  behind  the  nearly 
closed  door  was  only  a  shadow  —  why  had  he  not  said  so  at 
once?  Certainly,  at  this  rate,  the  mystery  which  sur- 
rounded the  case  was  only  becoming  deeper  as  the  investiga- 
tion proceeded. 

However,  speculation  was  forgotten  in  curiosity  over 
whom  the  next  witness  might  be. 

"Mobley  Westbrook,"  read  the  clerk;  and  an  officer 
retired  to  the  Coroner's  private  room  to  summon  him. 


[102 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  VERDICT 

DOCTOR  WESTBROOK  walked  unhesitatingly  and 
with  a  firm  tread  to  the  witness-chair;  but  once 
seated,  it  was  more  apparent  than  ever  that  his 
personal  appearance  had  undergone  a  marked  change. 
It  was  difficult  to  define:  his  head  and  beard  appeared  to 
be  more  shaggy  and  unkempt  than  usual;  certain  faint 
lines  cast  a  vague  and  almost  imperceptible  shadow  over  his 
frank  and  open  countenance;  and  without  abating  in  the 
least  their  steady  and  unwavering  glance,  his  eyes  con- 
tained within  their  depths  an  added  expression,  fleeting 
and  indeterminate. 

These  changes,  slight  as  they  were,  combined  to  produce 
varying  effects :  they  might  have  been  the  result  of  sickness, 
or  they  might  have  been  caused  by  mental  perturbation. 
With  the  latter  thought  in  his  mind,  John  Converse  studied 
the  Doctor  attentively.  Presently  he  leaned  across  the  table, 
and  whispered  to  Mr.  Mountjoy.  That  gentleman  nodded 
with  an  air  of  understanding,  adding,  "Another  witness 
who  has  something  to  conceal." 

Doctor  Westbrook's  testimony,  however,  belied  this 
assertion.  He  answered  promptly  all  questions,  and  added 
many  details  in  an  obvious  effort  to  make  his  statements 
clear  and  concise.  But  he  could  tell  little  more  than  he  had 
related  to  Mr.  Converse  and  Mr.  Merkel  on  the  night  of  the 
murder.  He  repeated  the  story  precisely  as  he  had  then 

[103] 


The  Silver  Blade 

narrated  it,  and  almost  in  the  same  words.  He  corroborated 
Lynden's  testimony  regarding  what  had  taken  place  after 
that  gentleman's  arrival;  and  in  describing  the  wound,  he 
made  it  clear  that  his  surmise  on  the  fatal  night  was  correct. 

"  In  addition  to  the  severing  of  the  carotid  artery,"  said 
he,  "the  autopsy  demonstrated  that  the  point  of  the  blade 
passed  between  the  fourth  and  fifth  cervical  vertebrae,  also 
severing  the  spinal  cord." 

Concerning  the  letter  addressed  to  De  Sanchez,  to- 
gether with  the  presence  of  Howe  in  his  office  at  the  time  of 
the  murder,  he  testified  at  length.  He  was  expecting  the 
deceased  to  call  upon  him  some  time  during  the  evening 
of  the  fourth,  and  while  awaiting  his  arrival  he  was  most 
agreeably  surprised  by  the  entrance  of  his  old  friend  Fer- 
dinand Howe. 

"It  was  about  half-past  four,"  the  witness  continued, 
"when  Mr.  Howe  entered  my  office.  In  the  pleasant  sur- 
prise of  the  meeting  I  forgot  completely  about  De  Sanchez 
for  several  minutes.  When  he  again  recurred  to  my  mind 
I  suddenly  resolved  not  to  see  him  at  all.  I  explained  to 
Ferdinand  that  I  was  expecting  a  caller  whom  I  did  not 
care  to  meet,  and  as  it  was  not  necessary  that  I  should, 
I  requested  him  to  wait  a  few  minutes  while  I  wrote  and 
despatched  a  brief  note." 

"  Did  you  hear  the  five-o'clock  whistles  blow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  were  blowing  when  De  Sanchez  burst  through 
the  door." 

"Now,  Doctor  Westbrook,  returning  to  the  letter  you 
wrote  on  the  evening  of  November  fourth  —  you  say  it  was 
directed  to  Senor  de  Sanchez  ?  " 

"It  was." 

[104] 


The  Verdict 

"I  will  ask  you  to  look  at  this  letter,  and  state  whether 
or  not  this  is  the  one  you  had  just  completed  when  deceased 
burst  in  upon  you." 

The  witness  merely  glanced  at  the  missive  before  stating 
positively  that  it  was ;  whereupon  the  Coroner  read  it  aloud. 
After  the  date  and  superscription  it  ran  as  follows : 

It  will  be  useless  to  renew  our  conversation  of  last  night. 
You  can  make  no  representations  that  will  influence  me  to 
change  my  mind.  So  long  as  the  lady  herself  is  only  sub- 
mitting to  the  wishes  of  her  parents  in  accepting  your  atten- 
tions, I  shall  continue  to  oppose  any  union  between  herself 
and  you. 

My  father's  attitude  in  this  matter  is  incomprehensible 
to  me,  and  I  am  confident  that  I  would  retain  the  support 
of  the  lady's  and  my  own  friends  in  preventing  your  project. 

Rest  assured  that  I  shall  not  hesitate  at  adopting  any 
measures  to  thwart  your  purpose.  Your  insistence,  know- 
ing as  you  do  that  you  have  neither  the  lady's  love  nor  respect, 
is  ungentlemanly,  and  can  only  lead  to  consequences,  to  say 
the  least,  disagreeable  to  yourself. 

MOBLEY  WESTBROOK. 

This  letter  was  then  marked  "Exhibit  B,"  and  became 
a  part  of  the  records  of  the  case. 

"Was  it  your  intention  to  send  this  letter  to  Senor  de 
Sanchez  ?  "  the  examination  proceeded. 

"  Yes.  Had  events  terminated  differently,  I  should  have 
sent  the  letter  to  him  that  same  night." 

Mr.  Merkel  here  referred  to  the  missive,  saying,  "In 
this  letter  occurs  the  phrase,  'My  father's  attitude  in  this 
matter  is  incomprehensible  to  me.'  Now,  what  did  you 
mean  by  that  ? — or  rather,  why  did  you  make  use  of  that  par- 
ticular phrase  in  the  sense  you  did  ?  What  occasioned  it  ?  " 

[105] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Doctor  Westbrook  frowned  as  at  a  disagreeable  memory. 

"The  favor  with  which  he  looked  upon  De  Sanchez's 
addresses  to  my  sister,"  he  replied. 

"  De  Sanchez  was  a  suitor  for  your  sister's  hand  ?  " 

"He  was." 

"What  was  incomprehensible  in  the  fact  that  your 
father  favored  him?" 

"A  number  of  things  that  should  be  quite  obvious,  sir. 
It  is  very  unpleasant  going  into  this." 

"  Pardon  me,  Doctor,  but  it  is  none  the  less  necessary." 

"Well,  to  begin  with,  Senor  de  Sanchez  was  not  of  our 
nationality,  and  I  never  before  knew  my  father  to  be  in  any 
way  partial  to  foreigners  —  quite  the  contrary.  I  am  con- 
vinced —  although  it  is  merely  an  impression  amounting  to 
conviction  —  that  my  father  did  not  personally  like  De 
Sanchez.  Again,  other  facts,  when  arrayed  together,  present 
a  false  perspective.  Several  years  ago  General  Westbrook 
quite  suddenly  severed  intimate  business  relations  with  Senor 
de  Sanchez:  concerning  this  he  has  never,  so  far  as  I  know, 
uttered  a  word  of  explanation.  All  communication  between 
them  ceased  abruptly,  and  I  don't  believe  my  father  ever 
mentioned  the  man's  name  until  he  appeared  here." 

"  Do  you  know  that  General  Westbrook  did  favor  Senor 
de  Sanchez  as  a  suitor  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"Please  state  how." 

"From  his  own  lips.  When  the  rumors  linking  De 
Sanchez's  and  my  sister's  names  became  persistent,  I  went 
to  see  my  father;  but  he  — "  The  Doctor  checked  himself, 
concluding  in  a  different  tone:  "It  is  very  painful  going 
into  this  matter.  Unless  it  is  absolutely  essential  - 

[106] 


The  Verdict 

"  I  will  touch  upon  it  as  lightly  as  possible,  Doctor.  That 
conversation  with  General  Westbrook  was  characterized 
by  some  warmth,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  Very  bitter  words  were  used  —  at  least,  by  me." 

"And  he  then  gave  you  to  understand  that  he  would 
continue  to  support  Senor  de  Sanchez  as  a  suitor  to  his 
daughter's  hand  ? " 

"That  is  correct." 

Abandoning  this  line  of  inquiry,  the  Coroner  again 
picked  up  the  dagger  with  its  sombre  stains,  which  the 
witness  identified  as  his  paper-knife.  A  juror  interposed 
with  a  question. 

"Doctor  Westbrook,"  said  he,  "was  it  commonly  known 
by  your  friends  and  acquaintances  that  this  dagger  — 
'  Exhibit  A ' —  usually  lay  on  your  writing-table  in  the  room 
where  your  patients  wait  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,"  the  Doctor  replied.  "There  is  not  one  of 
them  who  has  not,  at  one  time  or  another,  had  it  in  his 
hands  and  expressed  curiosity  concerning  it.  It  was  the 
occasion  of  innumerable  questions,  and  I  suppose  I  have 
been  reminded  a  hundred  times  that  such  a  present  carried 
with  it  bad  luck  —  that  knives  cut  friendship,  and  much 
to  the  same  effect." 

The  Coroner  took  up  once  more  the  thread  of  the  ex- 
amination. 

"Now,  Doctor  Westbrook,  the  dagger  was  obviously 
removed  from  your  desk  some  time  before  the  commission 
of  the  crime.  Did  you  miss  it  from  its  accustomed  place  ? " 

"No,  sir.  It  might  have  been  gone  for  several  days, 
for  all  I  know.  I  used  it  solely  as  a  paper-cutter,  and  then 
not  always,  unless  it  was  right  at  hand." 

[107] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  Did  you  notice  it  at  any  time  during  the  day  of  Novem- 
ber fourth?" 

"I  cannot  say;  I  am  so  accustomed  to  and  familiar 
with  its  presence,  that  the  circumstance  scarcely  would  have 
impressed  me." 

The  whole  of  the  witness's  testimony  up  to  this  point 
was  barren  enough  of  excitement  or  anything  in  the  nature 
of  a  surprise;  but  the  next  question  elicited  the  particulars  of 
Clay  Fairchild's  strange  request  for  the  dagger  on  the  day 
of  the  tragedy.  Witness  added: 

"  He  stated  that  he  wished  to  show  it  to  some  one.  I 
assented,  passed  on  out,  and  never  thought  of  it  again  until 
it  recurred  to  me  during  a  conversation  with  the  detective 
after  the  murder." 

"  Do  you  know  whether  he  returned  it  ?  " 

"No.  I  do  not  know  that  he  got  it  in  the  first  place;  I 
did  not  wait  to  see." 

"Do  you  lock  the  doors  when  leaving  your  office, 
Doctor?" 

"Only  those  opening  into  the  laboratory  and  the  front 
room.     Except  at  night  —  after  I  have  finally  departed  — 
the  reception-room  door  is  never  fastened.     It  is  scarcely 
ever  closed." 

"  On  the  afternoon  of  November  fourth,  then,  when  you 

left  your  office  at  one  o'clock,  was  the  door  open  as  usual  ? 

—  the  door  opening  from  the  hall  into  your  reception-room  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

At  this  point  the  inquisitive  juror  again  shot  forward 
with  a  question : 

"Did  Fairchild  ever  before  ask  you  to  lend  him  the 
dagger  ? " 

[108] 


The  Verdict 

Not  that  I  now  recall,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  he  knew  of  it,  did  n't  he  ?  and  where  you  commonly 
kept  it?" 

"Oh,  yes.  He  frequently  came  into  my  office,  and  I 
remember  once  telling  him,  as  I  have  told  some  hundreds 
of  others,  how  the  dagger  came  into  my  possession,  together 
with  its  romantic  little  history." 

Mr.  Merkel  here  resumed. 

"Now  then,  Doctor,  let  us  go  back  to  the  evening  of 
November  third,  the  night  before  Senor  de  Sanchez's  death. 
At  what  time  did  he  call  at  your  office  ?  " 

"At  about  five-thirty  or  six  o'clock." 

"Was  he  alone?" 

"No,  sir.     He  was  accompanied  by  Senor  Vargas." 

"  Please  relate  just  what  happened  at  that  time." 

"Senor  de  Sanchez  and  I  went  immediately  into  my 
consultation-room,  while  Senor  Vargas  remained  in  the  re- 
ception-room. The  former  began,  in  a  polite  enough  man- 
ner, to  ask  me  my  reasons  for  objecting  to  him  as  a  suitor 
for  my  sister,  and  he  presently  assumed  an  insinuating 
attitude  that  soon  angered  me  and  made  me  refuse  to  listen 
further  to  his  representations.  Although  he  was  a  model 
of  suavity  throughout  the  interview,  I  presently  gathered  the 
idea  that  his  words  were  hiding  a  covert  threat;  that  he 
was  holding  something  back  which  he  considered  would  be 
sufficient  to  cause  me  to  change  my  mind.  I  abruptly 
interrupted  his  flow  of  speech,  and  told  him,  in  words  inca- 
pable of  misconstruction,  that  my  mind  was  made  up,  and 
if  he  continued  to  press  his  attentions  where  they  were  not 
wanted,  he  should  regret  it. 

"  As  he  was  leaving,  De  Sanchez  said/  You  desire  to  know 
[109] 


The  Silver  Blade 

more  of  my  past  relations  with  your  honored  father?'  To 
this  I  replied  that  I  cared  nothing  about  them.  He  then 
said,  'I  am  sure  that  you  would  rather  have  the  facts  in 
your  own  bosom  than  that  they  should  become  known 
inadvertently  to  your  and  his  friends.'  This  was  so  directly 
a  threat  that  I  immediately  closed  the  interview.  He 
smiled,  bowed,  and  passed  out.  As  he  did  so  he  continued, 
'  I  shall  take  great  pleasure  in  relating  these  facts  to  you  — 
you  only,  Doctor;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  can  surprise 
you  —  even  to  commending  my  humble  person  to  your 
charming  — '  Oh,  I  fail  to  remember  all  the  insulting 
nonsense  he  unburdened  himself  of.  It  was  much  to  the 
same  effect." 

"Well?" 

"  I  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil.  He  merely  laughed  again 
and  said  that  he  was  then  on  his  way  to  my  father's.  After 
remarking  that  he  would  return  the  next  evening  at  about 
five  o'clock,  he  rejoined  Sefior  Vargas  and  withdrew. 

"  When  I  had  thought  it  over,  my  anger  cooled  somewhat, 
and  I  resolved  to  hear  what  the  man  had  to  say  —  to  know 
if  he  would  really  go  to  the  extreme  of  saying  anything  that 
would  reflect  upon  a  member  of  my  family.  This,  I  finally 
concluded,  would  put  such  an  advantage  into  my  hands  that 
I  could  bring  his  attentions  to  an  end  for  all  time." 

"  You  never  heard,  then,  what  it  was  he  intended  to  say  ?  " 

"No.  When  next  I  saw  him  he  was  practically  a  dead 
man." 

"  Recurring  once  more  to  the  night  of  the  fourth,  Doctor, 
did  not  Clay  Fairchild  come  into  your  office  shortly  after 
De  Sanchez  expired  ?  " 

"He  did." 

[110] 


The  Verdict 

"Relate  the  circumstance  in  full,  please." 
"  About  four  or  five  minutes  after  Jim  —  Mr.  Lynden 
—  had  left  to  notify  the  police  of  the  tragedy,  the  door 
suddenly  opened,  and  Clay  entered  the  room.  He  stopped, 
his  hand  on  the  knob,  and  stood  staring  at  De  Sanchez  with 
a  look  of  bewilderment.  This  quickly  gave  way  to  an 
expression  of  horror,  such  as  I  never  saw  before  in  a  sane 
human  countenance.  All  at  once  he  looked  at  me,  and 
apparently  tried  to  speak;  but  a  queer,  choking  sound  in 
the  throat  was  the  only  result.  Without  an  instant's  warn- 
ing —  before  Howe  or  I  could  realize  it  —  he  darted  through 
the  door  and  ran  swiftly  down  the  hall.  Before  that,  how- 
ever, I  called  upon  him  to  speak  and  explain  himself.  I 
fail  to  remember  just  what  I  said;  but  his  actions  were  very 
strange,  and  I  did  n't  know  what  to  make  of  them." 

"Did  Mr.  Fairchild  have  on  his  hat  when  he  entered 
your  office  ?  " 

"He  had  on  his  hat  and  a  light  overcoat." 
Next  there  followed  a  minute  description  of  the  young 
man's  dress,  together  with  his  personal  appearance,  such  as 
had  been  given  to  the  police  shortly  after  his  disappear- 
ance: Height,  about  six  feet;  weight,  168  pounds;  eyes 
and  hair,  very  dark,  the  latter  worn  rather  long  and  inclined 
to  curl;  form,  slender,  with  a  stoop  to  the  shoulders,  so  slight 
as  to  be  scarcely  noticeable;  all  of  his  movements  slow  and 
deliberate,  a  striking  feature  being  an  air  of  interested  at- 
tention with  which  he  listened  to  anybody  addressing  him, 
together  with  a  low  and  decisive  manner  of  speech  —  almost 
a  drawl.  The  description  contained  the  further  information 
that  he  was  not  easily  moved  from  his  natural  reserve,  a 
circumstance  making  his  conduct  after  the  murder  all  the 

fllll 


The  Silver  Blade 

more  remarkable,  suggesting  that  he  was  then  laboring  under 
an  extraordinary  emotion. 

With  their  heads  almost  touching,  the  Coroner  and  the 
District  Attorney  whispered  briefly  together;  after  which 
Mr.  Merkel  addressed  the  witness. 

"  When  your  office  door  was  thrown  open,  and  De  Sanchez 
staggered  through,  did  you  not,  in  looking  up,  have  that 
portion  of  the  hall  between  your  room  and  Mr.  Nettleton's 
private  office  directly  before  your  eyes  ?  " 

"Yes.  But  while,  at  the  time,  I  was  not  looking  for 
any  one  else  but  De  Sanchez,  I  am  now  able  to  recall  that 
no  one  was  there  —  that  that  part  of  the  hall  was  empty. 
The  occasion  was  so  startling  that  the  association  of  ideas 
did  not  suggest  the  possibility  of  the  assassin  being  near  by, 
or  even  that  a  murder  had  been  committed.  It  was  some 
minutes  before  I  came  to  a  realization  of  the  gravity  of  what 
had  happened." 

"  Can  you  recall  whether  Mr.  Nettleton's  door  was  open 
or  closed  ?  " 

"  Not  positively.  But  I  believe  if  it  had  been  wide  open 
and  no  light  in  his  office,  I  should  have  noticed  it  —  the 
circumstance  would  have  been  unusual." 

"Then,  his  door  might  have  been  ajar  or  closed  com- 
pletely, but  not  entirely  open  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  believe  that  is  correct.  I  have  a  strong  impres- 
sion that  it  was  entirely  closed,  or  very  nearly  so;  yet  I  would 
not  make  a  positive  statement  to  that  effect." 

During  the  entire  time  Doctor  Westbrook  occupied  the 
stand  Mr.  Mountjoy  watched  him  narrowly,  and  seemed  to 
weigh  carefully  each  word  of  the  witness's  replies.  They 
followed  the  interrogations  so  promptly,  the  manner  of  their 

[1121 


The  Verdict 

utterance  was  so  convincing,  that  the  truth  of  the  Doctor's 
statements  could  not  be  doubted.  Still,  there  was  that  fleet- 
ing shade  of  apprehension  in  his  eyes,  the  vague  shadow  of 
worry  that  clouded  his  face.  What  caused  them  ? 

"We  have  been  groping  all  about  the  focal  point,"  Mr. 
Mountjoy  whispered  to  the  Coroner  and  Converse.  "  We 
have  not  yet  laid  our  finger  upon  the  primum  mobile.  There 
is  a  question  that  will  open  up  the  whole  thing,  if  we  can 
only  find  it.  Think!"  And  he  stopped,  staring  fixedly  at 
the  detective. 

The  Captain  remained  silent  a  few  moments  —  a  long 
time  it  seemed  to  those  who  waited  —  before  he  spoke. 
Then  he  whispered  to  Mr.  Merkel,  who  turned  immediately 
to  the  witness  and  asked  : 

"  Doctor,  do  you  know,  or  have  you  any  reason  to  believe, 
there  was  any  person  other  than  yourself,  Ferdinand  Howe, 
J.  Howard  Lynden,  Clay  Fairchild,  and  William  Slade  on 
the  second  floor  of  the  Nettleton  Building  at  or  about  the 
time  of  Senor  de  Sanchez's  death  ?  " 

The  answer  came  unhesitatingly. 

"I  have  not." 

But  was  that  an  expression  of  relief  that  hid  the  worry 
in  his  eyes,  that  lightened  the  shado\v  on  his  face?  or 
were  the  worry  and  the  shadow  still  there?  Neither  the 
District  Attorney  nor  Mr.  Converse  could  determine. 

"Very  well,  Doctor,  that  is  all,"  said  the  Coroner.  "Call 
General  Westbrook." 

Stiffly  erect,  and  with  an  air  of  obeying  only  the  inevi- 
table mandate  of  Justice,  the  General  entered  the  room. 

However,  little  additional  light  was  shed  upon  the 
mystery  by  his  testimony;  though  it  cannot  be  said  that 

[113] 


The  Silver  Blade 

it  was  entirely  devoid  of  interest.  He  related  at  length  his 
acquaintance  with  the  deceased,  but  with  a  reserve  no 
one  could  ever  attempt  or  expect  to  penetrate.  He  stated 
that  their  relations  in  Mexico, —  which  had  been  solely  of  a 
business  nature, —  had  been  dissolved  by  mutual  agree- 
ment; that  there  had  been  no  subsequent  correspondence 
between  them,  as  their  affairs  had  been  entirely  wound  up; 
and  that  his  social  connection  with  Senor  de  Sanchez  dated 
only  from  that  gentleman's  arrival  in  the  city.  He  would 
not  undertake  to  say  that  Senor  de  Sanchez  had  or  had  not 
a  living  enemy.  If  there  were  any  such  he  was  in  complete 
ignorance  of  that  person's  existence. 

"  General,  did  not  Seiior  de  Sanchez  desire  to  marry  your 
daughter?" 

"He  did." 

"With  your  approval,  of  course?" 

"Yes." 

"And  Mrs.  Westbrook's ? " 

"Certainly,"  returned  the  witness,  with  a  mild  expres- 
sion of  astonishment. 

"  But  Doctor  Westbrook  rather  emphatically  opposed  it, 
did  he  not  ?  " 

The  General  suddenly  glared,  and  Mr.  Merkel  stirred 
uneasily. 

"  Pardon  me,"  the  latter  added  with  a  propitiatory  tone, 
"  er  -  ah  —  General ;  I  should  n't  ask  the  question  were  it  not 
necessary."  The  witness  then  coldly  replied: 

"Doctor  Westbrook  saw  fit  to  obtrude  himself  into  my 
private  affairs  in  a  manner  that  would  have  had  no  effect 
one  way  or  another  on  the  result." 

"  You  mean  ?  "  Mr.  Merkel  innocently  asked. 
[114] 


The  Verdict 

"  Just  what  I  say,  sir." 

"  You  —  you  say  he  intruded,  General,"  the  Coroner 
persisted.  "  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  his  attitude  in  this  matter 
has  brought  about  a  severance  of  his  relations  with  the  rest 
of  the  family  ?  " 

"  We  hold  no  communication." 

"  Was  Miss  Westbrook  opposed  to  the  proposed  marriage  ?  " 

"This  is  nonsense.  What  have  the  vagaries  and  whims 
of  a  young  girl  to  do  with  this  —  " 

"Again,  General,  pardon  me;  I  must  press  the  question," 
interrupted  the  Coroner.  "  If  it  is  possible,  we  will  avoid 
calling  upon  Miss  Westbrook  to  testify." 

General  Westbrook  stared  at  his  questioner  in  speechless 
astonishment,  for  so  long  a  time  that  the  latter  was  obliged 
to  speak  again. 

"We  may  presume,  then,  that  she  was  not  in  complete 
sympathy  with  the  idea  ?  " 

The  witness  all  at  once  smiled  —  the  kind  of  smile  his 
opponents  had  learned  to  dread. 

"I  would  not  take  it  upon  myself  to  correct  any  ideas 
you  may  have  formed  upon  the  subject,"  he  said,  pleasantly, 
while  an  audible,  but  quickly  suppressed,  titter  ran  round  the 
room,  and  the  heavy  countenance  of  the  Coroner  became 
a  dull  red. 

Mr.  Mount  joy  relieved  the  situation  —  and  certainly 
relieved  Mr.  Merkel  —  finally  eliciting  the  fact  that  Miss 
Westbrook  was  at  first  not  in  sympathy  with  the  idea  of 
accepting  Senor  de  Sanchez's  attentions;  that  she  had  later 
asserted  a  woman's  prerogative  by  changing  her  mind  and 
agreeing  to  receive  him,  although  the  matter  had  not  arrived 
at  the  stage  of  a  definite  engagement. 

[115} 


The  Silver  Blade 

"At  the  last  interview  between  Doctor  Westbrook  and 
yourself,"  Mr.  Merkel  then  resumed,  "was  he  not  very 
vehement  in  expressing  his  opinion  on  the  subject  of  the 
proposed  marriage  ?  " 

"I  believe  he  was  not  very  successful  in  concealing  his 
feelings." 

"Will  you  repeat  what  Doctor  Westbrook  said  on  that 
occasion  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not  attempt  it." 

"  I  assure  you,  General,  it  is  essential." 

"I  cannot  recall  his  exact  language." 

"Well,  its  purport." 

"His  statements  amounted  to  this:  that  the  marriage 
should  not  take  place  as  long  as  he  was  alive  to  prevent  it; 
that  he  should  certainly  find  ways  and  means  of  preventing 
its  celebration  —  no  more  and  no  less." 

Ferdinand  Howe  followed  the  General.  His  testimony, 
of  course,  was  of  prime  importance;  but  as  its  nature  is 
already  familiar  it  need  not  be  repeated  here  —  with  a 
single  exception.  After  corroborating  the  Doctor's  evi- 
dence regarding  Fairchild's  behavior  when  the  latter  en- 
countered the  body,  the  witness  added: 

"  Mobley  cried, '  Clay,  what  do  mean  ?  Why  do  you  stare 
at  me  so?'  But  the  look  of  horror  only  deepened;  his 
jaw  dropped,  and  his  eyes  became  fairly  glassy.  I  believe, 
then,  Mobley  half  rose  from  his  chair.  'Speak!'  he  cried. 
But  the  young  man  seemed  incapable  of  doing  so.  He 
uttered  a  peculiar  gurgling  cry,  darted  abruptly  through  the 
open  door,  and  disappeared." 

Judge  Elihu  Petty,  of  the  firm  of  Petty  &  Carlton,  at- 
torneys, testified  that  on  the  evening  of  November  fourth, 

[116] 


The  Verdict 

at  about  five  o'clock,  he  was  in  his  office  in  the  Field 
Building.  After  confirming  the  previous  testimony  regard- 
ing the  light-well  and  the  impossibility  of  anybody  having 
entered  the  Nettleton  hall  window  by  that  means,  the  wit- 
ness continued  with  a  description  of  the  other  Nettleton 
windows.  He  asserted  that  in  broad  daylight,  and  at  other 
times  when  there  was  a  light  in  Mr.  Nettleton's  private 
office,  he  could  see  the  books  on  the  further  wall  of  the 
room  mentioned. 

Question  by  the  Coroner:  "Could  you  see  the  books  on 
the  evening  of  November  fourth  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  While  there  was  light  enough  outside,  yet  it 
was  so  late  that  the  interior  shadows  were  dense  enough  to 
prevent  me  seeing  any  distance  into  the  room.  There  was 
no  light  in  that  room." 

"Had  there  been  a  person  in  Mr.  Nettleton's  private 
room  at  that  time,  could  you  have  seen  him  ?  " 

Witness  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  Not  unless  such  person  had  approached  quite  close  to 
the  windows,"  he  presently  replied.  "It  is  possible  that 
somebody  might  have  been  there  without  my  seeing  him. 
But  I  saw  no  one." 

Judge  Petty  stated  that  he  remembered  the  five-o'clock 
whistles,  associating  the  circumstance  with  Mr.  Howe's 
abrupt  disappearance  from  the  Doctor's  window,  which 
ended  his  testimony. 

The  calling  of  Senor  Vargas  —  Juan  Sebastian  de  Var- 
gas y  Escolado,  as  he  announced  his  name  after  being 
sworn  —  occasioned  a  quick  accession  of  interest ;  and  he 
surprised  even  the  Coroner  by  revealing  an  unexpected 
acquaintance  with  his  dead  compatriot,  and  an  intimate 

[117] 


The  Silver  Blade 

knowledge  of  his  life  and  affairs.  Aside  from  this,  Senor 
Vargas  added  nothing  to  the  information  regarding  the 
tragedy;  but  as  the  only  hope,  it  would  seem,  of  eliciting 
anything  at  all  lay  in  the  past,  witness  was  questioned 
closely,  the  examination  covering  the  whole  period  of  his 
acquaintance  with  the  deceased.  He  continued  to  evince  a 
stolid  lack  of  interest;  on  the  other  hand,  however,  it  seemed 
obvious  that  he  had  nothing  to  reserve,  and  he  answered  all 
questions  fully  and  with  an  apparent  desire  to  throw  what- 
ever light  he  might  upon  the  mystery.  As  his  examination 
lengthened  considerably,  it  will  here  be  merely  summarized. 

The  witness  had  known  De  Sanchez  ever  since  his  (the 
witness's)  residence  in  Mexico  —  about  seven  or  eight 
years.  Socially  he  knew  little  of  the  deceased;  but  early 
in  their  acquaintance  they  had  become  interested  in  a  num- 
ber of  commercial  undertakings,  which,  proving  profitable, 
led  naturally  to  other  enterprises.  There  never  had  been 
anything  in  the  nature  of  a  partnership, —  so  far  as  the  world 
knew,  at  least, —  but  a  mutual  confidence  had  grown  up 
between  them,  and  each  frequently  intrusted  the  other 
with  large  sums;  "an  association,"  added  Senor  Vargas, 
"that  has  more  than  doubled  my  fortune."  They  usually 
struck  a  balance  twice  in  the  year,  when  funds  were  divided 
and  other  enterprises  planned. 

Question:  "  Did  Senor  de  Sanchez  owe  you  anything  at 
the  time  of  his  death  ?  " 

Answer:  "  Neither  of  us  was  indebted  to  the  other,  except 
in  this  way:  at  the  present  time  there  is  a  joint  account 
approximating  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  thousand  dollars. 
I  have  my  own  figures;  but  I  shall  abide  by  his.  He  was 
a  careful  business  man, —  so  much  so,  that  I  can  confi- 

[118] 


The  Verdict 

dently  assert  that  a  proper  division  of  this  sum  can  be  made, 
to  a  centavo,  from  his  private  books.  Our  association  was 
exceptionally  pleasant  and  profitable;  there  was  never  the 
shadow  of  a  dispute  or  misunderstanding  between  us." 

"Were  the  relations  between  you  amicable  at  the  time 
you  left  Mexico  ?  " 

"As  much  so  as  they  ever  were.  On  the  day  Sefior  de 
Sanchez  left  Mexico  City  he  executed  to  me  a  power  of 
attorney  to  certain  lands  of  which  he  was  at  that  time  nego- 
tiating a  sale.  I  consummated  the  deal,  and  deposited  to 
his  account  the  sum  of  sixty-two  thousand  dollars." 

"Why,  then,  should  you  have  experienced  difficulty  in 
closing  with  him  the  Paquita  Gold  Mine  matter,  which  led 
you,  as  you  say,  to  follow  him  here  ?  " 

The  witness  considered  some  time,  and  presently  replied : 

"  I  do  not  want  it  to  appear  that  I  desire  to  reserve  any 
information;  but  understand,  please,  that  this  is  a  matter 
in  which  I  am  merely  acting  as  an  agent  for  other  parties, 
and  that  it  is  not  closed  yet.  Perhaps  you  will  appreciate 
my  position  from  the  fact  that  Senor  de  Sanchez  owned 
the  property,  and  I  am  making  a  purchase  for  a  party  of 
English  capitalists." 

Mr.  Merkel  smiled  knowingly,  adding,  "And  of  course 
you  have  no  interest  in  the  property  yourself.  I  see." 

But  the  knowing  look  brought  no  answering  light  to  the 
dark,  impassive  features;  and  neither,  apparently,  did  wit- 
ness feel  called  upon  to  make  any  response  at  all. 

"Senor  Vargas,"  said  the  Coroner,  "we  are  seeking  to 
ascertain  if  the  unfortunate  gentleman  had  an  enemy;  or 
if  any  of  his  affairs  or  business  transactions  were  of  such  a 
nature  that  they  would  antagonize  anybody  to  the  point 

[119] 


The  Silver  Blade 

of  such  extreme  retaliation  as  has  been  meted  out  to  him. 
Now,  from  your  association  with  Senor  de  Sanchez,  do  you 
know  of  any  such  person,  or  any  such  affair  ?  " 

Witness  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"  I  know  of  no  such  affair  or  enemy  —  at  least,  I  am  sure 
there  is  no  enemy  in  Mexico." 

For  the  first  time  during  the  entire  proceedings  the  Dis- 
trict Attorney  ignored  the  Coroner  to  put  an  interrogation 
himself. 

"  In  Mexico  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly.  "  Do  you  know  or 
suspect  an  enemy  in  this  country  —  here  —  or  elsewhere  ?  " 

"No,  no,  senor.  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  said  that; 
but  in  Spain  —  in  Mexico  —  Don  Alberto  could  not  have 
loved  so  beautiful  a  maiden  as  the  Senorita  Westbrook  with- 
out making  many  enemies,  and  bitter  ones  too.  I  was 
thinking  of  that  alone."  He  spread  out  his  hands  in  true 
Latin  fashion.  "  Eso  se  comprende  —  it  is  a  matter  of  course 
-  but  I  know  nothing." 

The  inquiry  now  turned  to  the  relations  between  Gen- 
eral Westbrook  and  De  Sanchez.  It  appeared  that  the  wit- 
ness had  never  met  the  General,  and  knew  nothing  of  their 
mutual  affairs.  The  two  had  separated  amicably,  so  far 
as  he  knew.  He  had  no  reason  to  think  otherwise.  "  When 
the  Senorita  Westbrook  departed  from  Mexico,  after  her 
visit  with  her  father,  the  Senor  General  accompanied  his 
daughter  home,  and  never  returned." 

So  ended  the  testimony.  The  audience  rapidly  dwindled 
away  as  the  jury  filed  out  to  deliberate;  while  the  few  who 
remained  separated  into  groups  and  fell  to  discussing  the 
"  De  Sanchez  Mystery," —  now  more  of  a  mystery  than  ever. 

For  a  reason  not  made  known  to  the  witnesses,  they, 
[120] 


The  Verdict 

with  the  exception  of  General  Westbrook  and  Judge  Petty, 
are  requested  to  remain  until  the  jury  report.  The  request, 
regardless  of  the  politeness  in  which  it  was  couched,  might 
have  excited  some  doubt  and  apprehension  among  those 
who  obeyed  it,  if  the  officers,  in  managing  to  keep  near 
them,  had  been  less  adroit  in  doing  so.  Nobody  can  con- 
jecture at  whom  the  jury's  verdict  will  point,  and  they  are 
quite  an  hour  in  making  up  their  own  minds. 

When  they  finally  file  back  into  the  room  there  are  very 
few  remaining  to  hear  what  the  result  of  their  deliberations 
may  be.  The  foreman  slurred  over  the  verdict  with  such 
haste  that  it  was  all  but  unintelligible.  It  ran : 

We,  the  jury,  in  the  matter  of  the  death  of  Alberto  de 
Sanchez,  find  that  said  De  Sanchez  came  to  his  death  by  a 
dagger  wound  in  the  throat,  at  the  hand  of  some  person  or 
persons  to  this  jury  unknown. 

So  ended  the  first  act  of  the  drama  of  the  "  De  Sanchez 
Mystery."  As  for  Mr.  Converse,  "  Now  I  can  get  to  work," 
he  confided  to  himself,  as  he  walked  home  to  his  lodgings 
in  Ash  Lane. 


[121] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME 

THE  exterior  of  No.  18  Ash  Lane  did  not  present  an 
inviting  appearance..   It  was  a  dingy,  battered,   and 
weather-worn  brick  structure,  marking  a  remote  epoch 
in  the  past;  and  besides  Mr.  Converse,  it  contained  one  other 
tenant,  a  little  old  man  whose  entire  body  was  so  twisted 
and   contorted  into   deformity   by    rheumatism,    that    one 
wondered  what  incentive  could  prevail  upon  him  to  move. 

A  sign  above  the  double  door  conveyed  to  the  casual  way- 
farer the  information  that  the  busy,  cheerful  cripple's  name 
was  "A.  Follett."  Long  before  the  remainder  of  the  legend 
—  "  Dealer  in  Scrap  Iron,  Brass,  Copper,  Castings,  and  All 
Sorts  of  Junk" — could  be  deciphered,  the  stranger  was 
aware  of  the  business  conducted  here;  for  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  penetrate  into  the  recesses  of  the  lower  floor,  it  was 
met  by  a  conglomeration  of  cast-off  material  which  promised 
insanity  to  anybody  rash  enough  to  attempt  its  assortment 
and  classification. 

Close  by  the  double  entrance  a  gate  in  a  high  board  fence 
gave  access  to  the  yard.  Through  this  each  day  passed  the 
peripatetic  collectors  of  such  refuse  as  Mr.  Follett  dealt  in, 
and  their  burdens  were  disposed  of  by  a  black  Hercules  — 
Mr.  Follett's  back  and  legs  and  arms  —  who  answered  to 
the  name  of  Joe. 

The  Captain's  daily  associates  would  have  been  quite 
staggered  had  they  known  that  the  cheerful,  grizzled,  and 

[122] 


Cherchez  la  Femme 

battered  dealer  in  junk  was  his  closest  friend  and  his  only 
confidant,  and  that  he  discussed  all  his  most  perplexing 
problems  with  Mr.  Follett.  Mr.  Converse,  however,  had 
demonstrated  more  than  once  that  his  confidence  was  not 
misplaced;  that  his  friend's  judgment,  shrewd  insight,  and 
discretion  were  of  a  value  not  to  be  expressed  by  words.  In 
Mr.  Converse's  sailor  days  the  two  had  been  companions  on 
many  a  memorable  voyage,  and  each  was  as  comprehensive 
of  the  other's  silences  as  if  they  had  been  filling  the  moments 
with  golden  speech. 

On  the  Monday  night  subsequent  to  the  inquest  and 
one  week  after  that  event,  the  two  are  sitting  in  the  snug 
front  room  upstairs,  and  it  is  Mr.  Follett  who  first  speaks. 

"So,  John,"  he  remarks,  "the  newspapers  have  some- 
thing to  stir  up  the  interest  in  your  dead  Mexican  man." 
He  laughed  softly  and  waved  his  pipe  with  a  feeble  gesture 
toward  the  Captain.  "  But  I  'm  thinkin'  it  won't  hurry  you 
up  none  to  crowd  the  canvas  on  you." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  reward  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Con- 
verse. 

The  other  nodded  and  continued:  "Twenty  thousand 
dollars  is  a  heap  o'  money,  John;  many  men  would  do 
murder  over  an'  over  again  for  it.  Sometimes  I  can't 
believe  that  these  ideas  o'  rewardin'  an'  punishin'  are  right. 
No  matter  how  high  the  reward,  nor  how  hard  the  punish- 
ment, some  people  will  do  wrong  in  the  face  o'  one  an'  in 
spite  o'  the  other.  .  .  .  Twenty  thousand  American,  is  it  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  we  are  to  draw  on  the  De  Sanchez  estate 
through  the  Mexican  consul  for  expenses  necessary  to  pur- 
suing the  investigation." 

Mr.  Follett  expressed  his  wonder  in  a  prolonged  whistle. 
[1231 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  John,  this  is  what  you  will  have  when  you  run  down  the 
murderer.  Then  you  can  retire.  Then  you  can  get  that 
little  cottage  an'  all  them  flowers  you  sometimes  talk  about : 
funny  idea  for  an  old  sailor  man."  He  changed  the  trend 
of  his  talk  abruptly,  and  added,  with  a  more  serious  note: 
"  We  must  increase  the  reward  for  that  woman.  Everything 
centres  an'  circles  about  her,  an'  that 's  what  discourages 
me.  When  you  get  clear  o'  the  harbor  on  a  cruise  o'  this 
kind,  it 's  like  tryin'  to  navigate  without  chart  or  compass, 
an'  the  stars  all  hid,  to  have  a  woman  mixed  in  it  to  the 
extent  that  this  one  seems  to  be.  Make  it  a  hundred  —  two 
hundred  —  dollars;  but  find  that  woman." 

"Abram,  you  are  right,"  Mr.  Converse  rejoined,  with 
unusual  warmth.  "  I  am  no  nearer  to  laying  my  finger  upon 
her  than  I  was  the  day  of  the  murder.  As  you  say,  we  must 
find  the  woman;  everything  hinges  upon  her.  But  look 
you,  Abram,  we,  every  one  of  us,  missed  a  very  fine  point 
at  the  inquest  that  now  is  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face." 

Mr.  Follett  unconsciously  and  thoughtfully  fell  to  rub- 
bing that  member,  while  he  attended  to  his  friend's  words. 

"  What  was  it  Howard  Lynden  was  afraid  of  betraying  ?  " 
continued  Mr.  Converse,  warming  to  his  subject.  "What 
was  it  Mr.  Ferdinand  Howe  was  afraid  of  betraying  ?  What 
worried  Doctor  Westbrook  ? "  He  stared  hard  at  Mr. 
Follett,  and  answered  the  questions  himself.  "  It 's  just 
this:  they  have  reason  to  suspect  that  the  woman  is  mixed 
up  some  way  in  the  matter;  but  how?  They  asserted 
under  oath  that  no  woman  was  present ;  did  they  one  and  all 
perjure  themselves  ?  I  don't  believe  it." 

The  listener  nodded  gravely  to  signify  that  he  was  follow- 
ing the  argument,  but  offered  no  interruption. 

[124] 


Cherchez  la  Femme 

"No;  I  believe  that  every  man  Jack  of  them  told  all  he 
knew  of  the  affair.  Doctor  Westbrook  would  not  lie;  I 
don't  think  under  the  circumstances  Howe  would,  and 
Lynden  —  well,  he  just  could  n't.  Any  woman  that  you 
might  name  will  not  supply  an  adequate  reason  for  them  all 
to  unite  in  an  oath  of  falsehood." 

"Yet,"  observed  Mr.  Follett,  "it  is  the  woman,  and  we 
must  look  for  the  one  least  likely  to  have  been  there." 

"Exactly.  And  they  are  banded  together  to  shield  her 
name.  We  failed  to  hit  upon  the  right  question,  or  to  put 
it  in  the  proper  way,  so  leaving  them  an  opportunity  for 
evasion  without  downright  falsehood. 

"Again,  Abram,  would  these  complications  involve  the 
woman  or  some  one  else  ?  Are  they  shielding  her  for  her 
sake  or  their  own  ?  If  you  could  answer  me  those  questions, 
Abram,  I  could  tell  you  the  rest.  Where  is  the  Mexican 
woman  now,  who  smokes  a  cigarette  while  she  waits  for  her 
victim  ?  That 's  Merkel's  idea.  Poppycock !  There 's  no 
Mexican  woman  on  the  face  of  the  earth  that  all  of  those 
men  would  be  so  anxious  to  shield." 

"  John,  there 's  one  thing  about  this  here  female  that  you 
have  n't  considered  yet,"  began  Abram  Follett.  "She  may 
know  nothin'  about  the  murder;  she  may  only  have  showed 
a  common  weakness  o'  the  sex  by  bein'  where  she  had  no 
business;  she  may  be  in  the  same  boat  with  those  three 
men,  an'  they  are  simply  a-tryin'  to  save  her  from  fallin' 
overboard,  thinkin'  she  could  n't  throw  any  light  on  how 
Mr.  de  Sanchez  came  to  be  a  dead  man  all  of  a  sudden, 
but  could  get  herself  in  a  pretty  bad  fix.  They  are  not 
the  best  judges,  o'  course;  but  if  there 's  anything  in 
that  'nonymous  letter  you  got  about  her,  why,  there  's  some- 

[125] 


The  Silver  Blade 

body  else  knows  who  she  is,  an'  it 's  some  one  who  could 
be  made  to  tell. 

"Now  then,  John,  listen  to  me  a  bit:  there's  only  one 
other  person  we  know  o'  havin'  been  on  that  floor  at  the  time 
o'  the  killin'  —  Bill  Slade;  an'  I  know  two  or  three  things 
about  him  —  though  I  've  never  sot  eyes  on  the  man  that  I 
know  of  —  that  might  interest  you.  First,  his  father, 
before  the  war,  was  the  Fairchild  overseer;  secondly,  Bill 
Slade  himself  is  to-day  the  owner  o'  the  old  Fairchild  home- 
stead. What  we  don't  know  that  might  show  how  they  're 
all  tangled  up  together  —  if  they  really  are  —  might  be  a 
hull  lot.  .  .  .  Truth  can't  be  downed,  John,  but  it  some- 
times has  a  mighty  hard  time  a-gettin'  up  to  where  it  can  be 
seen  an'  recognized.  Oftener  than  not  we  don't  want  to 
recognize  it;  we  just  hand  it  a  rap  over  the  head  by  way  o' 
conveyin'  the  information  that  it  must  n't  get  too  con- 
spicuous." 

"  There  's  a  good  deal  about  Slade  that  is  hard  to  under- 
stand; I  '11  think  it  over."  The  Captain  was  still  looking 
hard  at  Mr.  Follett. 

"Another  thing,  John:  that  letter  gives  me  the  idea 
everything  ain't  a-goin'  smooth  with  them  people ;  there  's 
a  conflictin'  interest  somewhere,  you  mark  my  words.  They 
ain't  just  plain  common  folks,  either,  that  we  have  to  do 
with;  not  the  kind  that  goes  about  their  business  peace- 
fully an'  ca'mly,  day  after  day,  under  the  heft  of  a  secret  o' 
this  kind;  especially  when  so  many  shares  it." 

"  Speaking  of  Slade,"  said  Mr.  Converse,  abruptly  break- 
ing the  current  of  the  conversation,  "reminds  me  of  some- 
thing odd.  I  don't  know  that  you  have  ever  heard  of  it, 
but  there  is  a  peculiarity  about  Slade  and  General  West- 

[126] 


Cherchez  la  Femme 

brook  that  is  the  foundation  of  a  joke  of  long  standing  at 
the  General's  expense,  although  they  are  few  enough  who 
would  have  the  hardihood  to  take  that  liberty  with  him  to 
his  face. 

"  It  seems  that  always  when  Slade  and  the  General  meet, 
wherever  it  may  be  —  on  the  street,  at  the  bank,  in  offices 
or  business  houses, —  the  former  is  possessed  of  some  power- 
ful emotion.  He  steps  to  one  side,  oblivious  of  everything 
besides  General  Westbrook,  at  whom  he  stares  as  though  he 
were  quite  overcome  by  his  greatness.  At  the  same  time 
Slade  is  continually  mumbling  unintelligibly  to  himself. 
After  a  bit  he  seems  to  realize  his  queer  actions,  and  recovers 
himself  all  at  once  with  a  sheepish  look  around,  as  if  to  see 
whether  anybody  has  been  observing  him;  and  if  General 
Westbrook  has  not  already  departed,  Slade  blurts  out  a  con- 
fused apology  and  hurries  away.  It 's  queer  enough  in  that 
dried-up  little  man;  for  he  bears  the  reputation  of  a  miser, 
is  as  sour  as  vinegar,  lives  to  himself  in  a  little  cubbyhole 
of  a  room,  and  has  n't,  I  suppose,  one  intimate  friend  in  the 
world.  People  will  say,  'Slade?  Why,  yes,  I  know  old 
Slade.  Who  don't  ?  '  Yet  the  truth  is  that  nobody  really 
does  know  him.  He  's  simply  a  machine,  and  as  long  as 
he  works  smoothly  and  in  good  order  he  's  taken  for  granted, 
like  the  Lee  monument  or  the  changes  of  the  moon. 

"  Anyhow,  the  General  accepts  it  all  seriously,  as  a  tribute 
from  an  inferior  to  his  own  high  mightiness,  and  he  unbends 
to  the  old  codger  quite  graciously  —  for  him.  Whatever 
it  is  Slade  has  in  mind,  or  what  he  mutters  to  himself,  no  one 
seems  to  know ;  but '  Slade's  Blessing '  has  come  to  be  a  by- 
word in  the  city. 

"  Now  then,  on  the  night  of  the  eleventh  —  last  Wednes- 
F1271 


The  Silver  Blade 

day  night  —  the  headquarters  man,  Adams,  who  is  watching 
Vargas,  made  a  report  in  which  'Slade's  Blessing'  figures  in 
rather  a  curious  and  incomprehensible  manner.  It  ap- 
pears that  Slade  went  to  the  La  Salle  House,  apparently 
looking  for  some  one;  Vargas  was  sitting  in  the  rotunda, 
smoking,  when  all  at  once  who  should  come  in  but  General 
Westbrook.  Slade  was  then  standing  right  by  Vargas's 
chair,  when  he  caught  sight  of  the  General,  and  the  old  scene 
began.  Westbrook  came  directly  up  to  Vargas  and  spoke 
in  an  absent-minded  way  to  Slade,  who  made  his  usual  em- 
barrassed exit.  Now,  Vargas  did  not  show  that  he  had  no- 
ticed this  incident  —  which  should  have  been  strange  and 
novel  to  him  —  and  there  may  not  be  any  connection  between 
it  and  what  followed,  but  the  next  morning  Vargas  called 
on  Slade  at  the  Guaranty  Trust  Company's  offices.  He 
remained  only  a  few  minutes;  but  he  called  again  shortly 
before  five  o'clock  the  same  evening,  and  accompanied  Slade 
to  the  latter's  room,  where  he  remained  with  the  abstracter 
until  nearly  seven  o'clock." 

"  Belay  a  moment,  John.  Did  the  two  know  each  other 
before  ?  "  . 

"Oh,  no;  not  at  all." 

Mr.  Follett  nodded,  and  his  friend  continued : 

"  Vargas  went  to  Slade's  lodging  again  the  next  day,  and 
again  on  Friday  —  each  time  at  five  o'clock, —  and  remained 
from  an  hour  and  a  half  to  two  hours.  It 's  pretty  clear  that 
the  first  visit  to  Slade  at  the  office  was  merely  to  make  an 
appointment,  and  that  the  others  followed  therefrom.  But 
what  does  it  mean?  Has  Vargas  begun  a  little  detective 
work  on  his  own  account?  This  question  is  prompted  by 
what  followed  at  the  La  Salle  House  between  General 

[MB] 


Cherchez  la  Femme 

Westbrook  and  Vargas  on  Wednesday  night  after  Slade  had 
left  them. 

"The  General  approached  and  made  himself  known  to 
Vargas.  You  know  they  had  met  only  casually  —  at  the 
inquest  —  and  the  meeting  Wednesday  night  appeared  no 
more  than  a  refreshing  of  each  other's  memory.  Yet  when 
General  Westbrook  departed  he  seemed  to  be  greatly  dis- 
turbed —  so  much  so  that  Adams  says  he  had  half  a  mind 
to  follow  him.  It  is  true  that  the  two  conversed  some  time, 
but  nothing  appeared  which  would  account  for  the  General's 
agitation;  the  talk  seemed  to  be  merely  chatty,  pleasant, 
marked  by  smiles,  and  all  that.  It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to 
Adams  that  a  man  might  '  smile,  and  smile,  and  be  a  villain' 
still;  and,  after  all,  it  may  be  that  the  matter  has  to  do  with 
some  property  titles.  But  why  enlist  the  services  of  Seiior 
Vargas,  a  stranger?  I  thought  that  Vargas  himself  might 
be  interested  in  some  realty  here ;  but  I ' ve  had  that  looked 
up,  and  his  name  does  not  appear  of  record  anywhere  in  the 
county.  In  this  connection  I  have  been  having  the  records 
carefully  gone  over  to  see  if  any  of  these  people  are  mixed 
up  by  some  old  deal.  The  result  has  been  somewhat  queer; 
but  we  '11  pass  that  up  for  the  present." 

"  It 's  no  easy  matter  just  a-sortin'  out  the  known  facts, 
is  it  ?  "  observed  Mr.  Follett 

The  Captain  shook  his  head.  "  But  to  sum  up,  Abram," 
he  added,  "we  have  a  number  of  people  connected  by  a  lot 
of  little  circumstances,  which,  at  the  present  moment,  have 
mighty  wide  gaps  between,  and  seem  to  point  to  nothing." 

"  I  tell  ye,  John,  a  thing  that 's  standin'  stronger  in  my 
mind  than  all  else  comes  from  what  you  've  just  told  me, 
an'  from  what  I  've  told  you  about  this  man  Slade. 

[129] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"You  know,  before  the  war,  old  Bill  Slade,  the  father, 
was  the  Fairchild  overseer.  I  've  heard  the  son's  story, 
an'  it  appears  that  he  was  always  little  an'  mean  an'  picay- 
unish  —  not  the  kind  that  could  do  any  big  dirty  thing  ; 
just  little  an'  sneakin'.  But  old  Bill  was  ambitious  for  his 
boy,  who  was  just  a  young  feller  at  the  end  o'  the  war,  an' 
he  charted  out  a  course  for  young  Bill  that  pointed  from  the 
Fairchild  plantation  straight  to  the  United  States  Supreme 
Court;  but  he  failed  to  mark  off  all  the  rocks  an'  shoals,  an' 
the  set  o'  the  currents;  he  knew  little  o'  the  craft's  qualities 
that  was  to  make  the  voyage;  an'  the  consequence  is,  that 
young  Bill  landed  high  an'  dry  right  where  he  is  to-day. 
He  never  drank,  as  I  've  often  heard,  norc  hewed  nor  smoked, 
nor  he  never  fought,  nor  did  anything  else  to  show  that  he 
had  any  good  red  blood  in  him  —  just  natcherally  unable 
to  do  anything  good  or  bad."  Mr.  Follett  abruptly  altered 
his  tone.  "Has  there  been  anything  betwixt  him  and  the 
Fairchilds  since,  besides  him  now  ownin'  their  old  home 
an'  lettin'  it  go  to  rack  an'  ruin  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That 's  being  gone  into  now.  Nothing  has  been  turned 
up  so  far  that  sheds  any  light  upon  the  problem  of  the  mur- 
der." 

Mr.  Converse's  reply  was  thoughtful;  his  companion's 
run  of  talk  seemed  more  to  be  a  harmonious  accompaniment 
to  his  own  reflections  than  a  source  either  of  information  or 
available  ideas.  Yet  he  listened  patiently,  self-contained 
and  reserved,  his  occasional  responses  showing  that  he  was 
following  the  other's  words. 

"Another  point,  John,"  Mr.  Follett  went  on.  "From 
what  you  Ve  told  me  o'  this  Mr.  Vargas,  he  seems  to  be  a 
man  who  looks  pretty  sharp  to  his  own  affairs  without  bother- 

[130] 


Cherchez  la  Femme 

in'  himself  about  other  people's.  You  know,  meddlin' 
with  other  folks'  business  is  the  surest  sign  that  you  can't 
'tend  to  your  own.  That  don't  seem  to  be  his  style,  so  you 
can  be  pretty  sure  that  him  mixin'  himself  in  this  matter  on 
another  tack  has  somethin'  important  behind  it." 

Here,  quite  naturally  enough,  fell  one  of  the  familiar, 
pleasant  silences  that  characterized  the  friendship  between 
these  two  men.  The  Captain's  manner  soon  began  to  reveal 
an  impatience.  He  smoked  innumerable  pipes  of  tobacco  — 
not  in  his  usual  steady  way,  but  alternating  between  fits 
of  puffing  like  an  engine  for  a  space,  and  then  permitting  the 
fire  in  the  bowl  to  die  out.  Several  times  he  rose  and  walked 
slowly  to  and  fro  the  length  of  the  room,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him,  his  eyes  unseeing  —  oblivious  of  everything  but 
the  problem  upon  which  his  tenacious  mind  was  fastened. 
Once  or  twice  he  paused  at  the  window  and  looked  out  into 
the  darkness. 

All  these  evidences  of  extreme  mental  effort  were  to  the 
still,  crippled  figure  in  the  big  chair  so  many  indications  that 
the  Captain  had  seized  upon  an  idea  that  he  was  revolving 
to  a  definite  end.  Neither  by  word  nor  gesture  would  Mr. 
Follett  break  in  upon  these  cogitations  until  the  other  saw 
fit  to  enlighten  him.  The  issue  would  be  yielded  in  good 
time,  and  he  awaited  it  in  silent,  patient  eagerness. 

Once  Mr.  Converse  threw  one  of  the  windows  wide  open, 
and  the  sudden  in-rush  of  cool  night  air  began  rapidly  to 
dissipate  the  smoke  which  hung  in  well-defined  strata  of  blue. 
The  stillness  of  the  night  was  unbroken  by  any  sound,  until 
presently,  many  blocks  away,  could  be  heard  the  faint 
clatter  of  a  galloping  horse.  As  with  all  distant  sounds  in 
a  sleeping  city,  it  would  now  and  then  become  completely 

[131] 


The  Silver  Blade 

extinguished  behind  some  intervening  wall  or  building,  only 
to  burst  forth  again  with  added  clamor. 

How  often  are  the  greatest  crises  ushered  in  by  the  most 
trivial  of  incidents !  Mr.  Converse  was  only  dimly  aware  of 
the  beating  hoofs,  and  his  train  of  thought  was  not  at  all 
interrupted  by  any  reflection  that  horse  and  rider  might 
portend  aught  for  him;  then  the  circumstance  was  entirely 
forgotten  as  the  Federal  Building  clock  boomed  forth  one 
loud,  deep-throated  stroke  that  rang  high  on  the  night :  one 
o'clock. 

The  vibrations  were  still  trembling  audibly  when  he  turned 
of  a  sudden  from  the  window. 

"Abram,  I  have  it,"  he  announced  in  a  tone  of  finality. 
"I  know  how  to  find  Fairchild." 

Whatever  Mr.  Follett  might  have  responded  was  never 
uttered;  for  all  at  once  the  thud  of  hoofs  became  loud  and 
insistent.  The  rider  was  evidently  in  Ash  Lane  now,  and 
approaching  at  a  pace  that  would  soon  bring  him  opposite 
No.  18. 

"Listen!"  whispered  Mr.  Converse;  and  both  waited 
in  tense  expectation  while  the  wild  rider  drew  nearer  and 
nearer. 

The  horse  was  pulled  up  to  a  sharp  standstill  immediately 
below,  just  as  Converse  turned  to  the  window  once  more. 
In  the  light  which  fell  from  the  lamp  behind  him  he  could 
make  out  the  faint  glint  of  brass  buttons  and  the  brighter 
reflection  from  a  nickel-plated  star :  the  rider  was  an  officer 
of  the  mounted  force.  What  errand  required  such  speed, 
and  at  such  an  hour  ? 

"  Is  it  you,  Captain  Converse  ?  "  the  rider  began,  breath- 
lessly. "You  are  to  come  to  headquarters  right  away." 

[132] 


Cherchez  la  Femme 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  the  Captain. 

"  The  Old  Man  told  me  to  say  it  was  a  new  development 
in  the  De  Sanchez  case;  he  sent  me  himself.  McCaleb 
came  in  off  his  beat  half  an  hour  or  so  ago,  and  he  looked  as 
though  he  'd  been  seeing  ghosts.  Whatever  it  is,  he  brought 
in  the  news,  and  it  must  be  mighty  important  to  rout  the 
Old  Man  out  at  this  hour."  "  The  Old  Man,"  be  it  known, 
was  the  Chief  of  Police. 

"Very  well,  Harrison,  I  '11  be  along  at  once."  The  mes- 
senger wheeled  his  blowing  horse  and  disappeared  into  the 
night  again. 

Converse  was  not  long  in  following.  As  he  left  the  room 
Mr.  Follett  cried  cheerfully  after  him,  "Sail,  ho!"  The 
latter  was  accustomed  to  these  unceremonious  interruptions 
of  their  post-prandial  communions,  and  he  forbore  any 
display  of  curiosity. 

But  if  Mr.  Follett's  figurative  farewell  was  a  prognostica- 
tion that  the  voyage  of  discovery  was  no  longer  to  be  con- 
ducted in  unknown  seas,  or,  to  drop  metaphor  altogether, 
that  some  fact  had  come  to  light  which  promised  explanation 
of  the  mystery,  he  was  scarcely  a  true  prophet.  This  the 
Captain  had  presented  to  him  in  a  startling  manner  almost 
as  soon  as  he  entered  the  Chief's  private  office.  He  was 
impressed  at  once  by  that  official's  unusual  agitation  and  the 
white,  excited  countenance  of  the  young  officer  who  stood 
by  his  desk,  nervously  and  alternately  mopping  his  brow  and 
the  inside  of  his  helmet. 

The  Chief  glared  at  Converse  as  though  the  Captain  him- 
self had  been  guilty  of  some  unusual  offence. 

"Another  murder,  Converse!"  he  cried,  with  unsteady 
articulation.  "Good  Lord,  what  kind  of  a  force  have  I 

[133] 


The  Silver  Blade 

got  under  me,  anyhow  ?  McCaleb,  here,  has  just  brought  in 
a  most  astounding  report.  I  don't  know  which  way  to  turn ; 
I  feel  —  " 

"  May  I  inquire  who  has  been  murdered  ?"*'  said  Converse, 
quietly. 

"General  Westbrook!"  thundered  the  Chief,  banging  his 
fist  down  on  the  desk ;  "  one  of  our  very  best  citizens  is  the 
victim  of  a  dastardly  assassination!" 


134] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  SECOND  PROBLEM 

THE  fact  that  John  Converse  was  not  given  to  betraying 
either  surprise  or  astonishment  only  enhanced  the 
effect  of  the  involuntary  step  he  took  backward  in  the 
face  of  the  intelligence  flung  at  him  by  the  Chief  of  Police. 
For  a  minute,  perhaps,  he  returned  the  gaze  of  the  agitated 
official;  then  the  indomitable  tenacity  of  the  man  began  to 
manifest  itself  in  a  setting  and  tightening  of  the  solid  jaw; 
and  when  he  presently  turned  to  the  excited  McCaleb,  the 
stunning  effect  of  the  news  had  been  entirely  overcome  — 
he  was  quite  himself  again,  masterful,  determined,  and  in- 
spiring confidence.  Both  the  Chief  and  the  young  patrolman 
began  at  once  to  respond  to  his  quieting  influence. 

Officer  Harry  McCaleb  was  of  an  aptness  and  intelligence 
promising  rapid  advancement.  It  was  no  secret  that  he  had 
aspirations  looking  to  success  in  the  detective  service;  and 
it  was  of  him  that  the  Captain  demanded  particulars  of  the 
crime. 

"Tell  me  what  you  know,"  said  he,  his  manner  advising 
promptness  and  despatch. 

The  young  patrolman  delivered  his  account  with  a  glib- 
ness  and  attention  to  details  that  betokened  forethought  on 
the  subject. 

"Captain  Converse,"  he  began,  "this  month  I  am  on  the 
night  shift,  and  my  beat  takes  in  Vine  Street  and  General 
Westbrook's  neighborhood.  Mike  Clancy 's  my  partner. 

[135] 


The  Silver  Blade 

You  know  it 's  a  pretty  big  beat  for  two  men  to  cover  — 
especially  as  we  are  obliged  to  remain  together, —  and  we 
can't  pass  any  one  point  oftener  than  once  in  every  two 
hours,  or  such  a  matter. 

"  Well,  sir,  to-night  we  passed  the  Westbrook  place  last 
at  about  ten-thirty.  Everything  was  perfectly  quiet  at  that 
time,  and  we  had  no  occasion  to  be  more  than  ordinarily 
vigilant.  We  continued  on  our  beat,  and  in  the  natural 
run  of  events  should  have  been  back  at  the  Westbrook  cor- 
ner —  Tenth  and  Vine,  sir  —  at  about  twelve-thirty.  At 
twelve  o'clock  we  were  over  in  the  next  block  —  on  Live 
Oak,  to  the  rear  of  the  Westbrook  place,  and  between  Tenth 
and  Eleventh.  You  know  it 's  a  part  of  our  duty  after  dark 
to  watch  people  getting  off  cars  to  see  if  they  belong  in  our 
territory,  and  we  can't  gauge  our  time  very  well  when  we 
meet  many  cars  on  Live  Oak  Street. 

"  It  was  just  at  twelve  —  the  Federal  Building  clock  had 
just  struck,  sir  —  when  Mike  stopped  short.  '  What 's  that, 
McCaleb  ? '  says  he.  It 's  one  of  those  perfectly  still  nights, 
you  know,  when  sounds  carry  a  long  way."  Converse  had 
a  fleeting  memory  of  a  madly  galloping  horse.  "  '  Was  that 
a  shot  ? '  asked  Mike.  I  had  heard  something,  too,  but 
couldn't  tell  whether  it  was  a  shot  o^  not;  and  anyhow, 
neither  of  us  could  locate  it.  We  waited  quite  a  while,  listen- 
ing; then,  hearing  nothing  more,  we  went  on.  In  about 
ten  minutes  —  maybe  fifteen  —  we  stopped  suddenly  again ; 
we  heard  a  woman  scream.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
direction  this  time;  it  was  one  of  those  piercing,  long-drawn- 
out  screams  that  makes  a  man's  blood  run  cold.  We  had 
no  trouble  following  the  sounds,  for  the  screams  kept  up,  as 
fast  as  the  woman  could  get  her  breath.  'Help!  Murder!' 

[136] 


The  Second  Problem 

she  was  yelling;  and  Mike  and  I  raced  down  Tenth  Street 
to  the  Westbrook  place,  as  fast  as  we  could. 

"  Well,  sir,  when  we  got  there  it  was  as  though  bedlam  had 
broke  loose;  the  neighbors  were  pouring  out  on  all  sides; 
some  society  affair  was  going  on  last  night,  and  most  of  them 
had  just  got  home.  A  woman  was  running  up  and  down  the 
Westbrook  front  gallery,  wringing  her  hands  in  a  distracted 
way,  and  every  now  and  then  stopping  to  scream  '  Murder! ' ' 

"Stop  a    moment,    Mac,"    interposed   Converse 

"Chief,  call  a  cab,  please;   I  don't  want  to  waste  any  time 
—  I  can  listen  to  Mac  as  we  ride Now,  Mac,  go  on." 

"  Well,  as  Mike  and  I  vaulted  the  front  fence,  I  yelled  out 
that  we  were  officers,  and  Mike  set  his  whistle  going  for  Hart- 
man  and  Corrigan  in  the  next  beat,  in  case  we  should  need 
help ;  though  they  never  heard  it.  The  lady  fell  back  against 
one  of  the  big  gallery  pillars  and  waited  till  we  came  up. 
Then  we  saw  it  was  Mrs.  Westbrook.  She  looked  as  if  she 
were  being  beaten  by  some  one  we  could  n't  see,  and  was  try- 
ing to  shrink  away  from  the  blows. 

"The  whole  house  was  a  blaze  of  light,  every  electric 
lamp  being  turned  on,  it  seemed  like;  and  the  niggers  — 
well,  sir,  they  were  all  plum  crazy.  Mrs.  Westbrook  had 
evidently  been  to  whatever  was  going  on,  because  she  was 
all  dressed  up  in  one  of  those  shiny  white  dresses,  and  had 
lots  of  jewelry  on.  I  could  see  the  diamonds  on  her  fingers 
sparkling  with  her  heart-beats,  for  she  had  her  hands  locked 
tight  together  and  pressed  against  her  bosom.  When  we  got 
close  enough  to  her  we  could  hear  her  moaning  to  herself, 
'Oh,  my  God!  Peyton!  Peyton!  Peyton!  Oh,  my  God!  Pey- 
ton ! '  over  and  over  again,  like  a  machine,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  we  could  get  her  to  notice  us. 

[137] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  Just  then  two  or  three  of  the  neighbors  came  up.  One 
of  them,  a  lady,  grabbed  Mrs.  Westbrook,  and  asked, '  What 
is  it,  Lou  ? '  and  Mrs.  Westbrook  just  had  time  to  whisper, 
'  Peyton  —  in  there  —  dead ! '  before  slipping  down  the  pillar 
in  a  faint. 

"  Of  course  we  waited  for  nothing  more.  Leaving  her 
with  the  lady,  we  hurried  into  the  house  through  the  front 
door,  which  was  standing  wide  open. 

"I  never  saw  anything  like  it  in  my  life,  Captain;  back 
under  the  stairs  a  big  yellow  wench  was  sitting  on  the  floor, 
holding  Miss  Westbrook's  head  in  her  lap,  and  moaning 
and  rocking  to  and  fro.  The  young  lady  herself  was  lying 
out  in  such  a  way  that  we  thought  at  first  she  was  dead  too. 
The  telephone  was  right  above  her  head  - 

Here  the  recital  was  once  more  broken  in  upon,  this  time 
by  the  arrival  of  the  cab.  Mr.  Converse  and  the  patrolman 
hastened  into  it.  "General  Westbrook's  —  hurry!"  said 
the  Captain  to  the  driver,  who,  having  had  experience  in 
such  matters,  lashed  the  horses  to  a  gallop  in  an  effort  to 
obey  the  injunction. 

Once  under  way,  Officer  McCaleb  resumed  his  story : 

"As  I  was  saying,  the  telephone  was  right  above  where 
Miss  Westbrook  was  lying.  She  was  still  holding  the  receiver 
in  her  hand,  a  part  of  the  cord  attached  to  it,  the  whole  thing 
torn  loose  —  evidently  while  she  was  trying  to  use  the  'phone. 
She  must  have  fainted  then.  It  took  only  a  second  or  two 
to  see  that  nothing  worse  was  the  matter  with  her;  and  after 
stirring  the  nigger  woman  up  to  getting  water  and  bringing 
her  mistress  round,  we  went  on  hunting  for  the  General. 
We  had  to  search,  too;  for  every  one  that  had  n't  fainted  was 
wild  with  terror. 

[138] 


The  Second  Problem 

"Pretty  soon,  however,  we  came  upon  him  in  a  down- 
stairs room  —  sure  enough  dead,  Captain  Converse,  with  a 
knife  sticking  in  him.  I  left  Mike  there  to  keep  the  crowd 
out,  and  after  'phoning  to  headquarters  from  a  neighbor's, 
I  hurried  in  myself  to  make  sure." 

Not  until  the  young  man  had  finished  did  Converse 
vouchsafe  a  question. 

"A  knife,  you  say?  "  he  mused,  the  words  being  hardly 
so  much  an  interrogation  as  an  expression  of  the  importance 
he  seemed  to  attach  to  the  circumstance.  "  A  knife  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  But  I  neglected  to  say  there  was  a  revolver 
lying  on  the  floor.  I  did  n't  have  time  to  see  much;  but  it 
was  out  in  pretty  plain  view,  lying  close  to  the  General." 

"  His,  likely.  But  wait  till  we  get  there,"  said  Mr.  Con- 
verse; then,  as  an  afterthought,  "Who  else  was  at  the 
house  ?  " 

"  I  saw  no  one,  sir, —  that  is,  before  the  neighbors  arrived." 

"  Doctor  Westbrook  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

Shortly  the  conveyance  was  grinding  over  the  gravelled 
driveway  which  led  from  the  street  to  the  porte-cochere. 

The  house  itself  was  a  commodious  colonial  mansion, 
possessing  the  familiar,  massive-pillared  Greek  front.  Set- 
ting in  the  midst  of  a  wide  expanse  of  beautiful  park,  shaded 
by  magnolia,  catalpa,  and  numerous  oak  and  elm  trees,  it 
was  merely  a  variation,  in  details  alone,  of  a  uniform  style 
of  architecture  at  once  simple  and  imposing,  which  lent  to 
the  neighborhood  an  air  of  distinction  and  aloofness,  and 
imparted  that  genuine  spirit  of  the  old  Southern  home 
which  is  both  impressive  and  incapable  of  imitation. 

The  few  neighbors  who  remained  had  succeeded  in  bring- 
[139] 


The  Silver  Blade 

ing  some  sort  of  order  out  of  the  chaos  that  had  greeted 
officers  McCaleb  and  Clancy  upon  their  arrival.  The  negro 
servants  had  been  banished  to  their  own  quarters,  where  they 
were  out  of  the  way;  all  lights  had  been  extinguished  except- 
ing the  few  needed,  and  the  house  was  shrouded  in  the  un- 
broken stillness  which  exists  like  a  vacuum  behind  the  swift 
turbulence  following  a  sudden  and  tragic  death. 

The  Captain  was  received  with  something  of  the  awe  that 
always  greets  a  man  of  his  profession  when  he  first  enters 
upon  such  a  scene,  when  those  who  meet  him  are  as  far 
removed  from  the  law's  intricate  machinery  as  were  Gen- 
eral Westbrook's  friends  and  intimates.  Old  as  it  was,  the 
neighborhood  had  never  in  the  past  sustained  so  rude  and 
violent  a  shock  to  its  calm  respectability.  Mr.  Converse 
was  now  indeed  the  Captain,  the  god  in  the  car. 

An  elderly  gentleman,  evidently  a  neighbor,  met  them  at 
the  door.  He  led  the  officers  straight  back  through  the 
wide  and  richly  furnished  hall,  past  the  carved  oaken  stair- 
way, which  rose  like  an  invitation  to  a  multitude,  to  a  lateral 
hall  extending  the  width  of  the  house.  Here  he  turned  to 
the  left,  and  presently  paused  before  a  curtained  door;  a 
door  so  massive  and  solid  that,  together  with  the  voluminous 
folds  of  the  heavy  velvet  curtain  which  hung  before  it,  it 
promised  to  afford  an  effective  barrier  to  sounds  arising 
within  the  room  beyond,  causing  the  sharpest  of  noises 
emanating  therefrom  to  strike  muffled  and  dead  upon  the 
ear  of  anybody  in  the  hall. 

Mr.  Converse  placed  a  restraining  hand  upon  the  arm 
outstretched  to  open  the  door. 

"Just  a  moment,  sir,"  said  he.  "Is  Doctor  Westbrook 
here?" 

[140] 


The  Second  Problem 

"No,  sir;  but  efforts  are  being  exerted  to  find  him.  It 
appears  that  he  is  in  attendance  upon  some  suburban  pa- 
tient." 

"Who  discovered  the  tragedy?  " 

"Miss  Westbrook.     She  is  completely  prostrated,  sir." 

"Very  good;  now  open  the  door." 

The  portal  swung  open  and  revealed,  obviously,  the  house- 
hold library.  Save  for  the  door,  the  windows,  and  the  nar- 
rower spaces  between  the  windows,  its  walls  were  entirely 
concealed  by  book-laden  shelves;  the  apartment  was  other- 
wise scantily  furnished. 

By  a  large,  old-fashioned  fireplace  in  the  southwest  corner 
stood  a  heavy  leathern  couch;  besides  this  the  room  con- 
tained nothing  more  in  the  way  of  large  furniture  except  a 
heavy  oaken  table  which  stood  in  the  bay  of  the  east  win- 
dow. There  was  a  swivelled  desk-chair  before  the  table; 
a  Morris  chair,  a  straight-backed  wooden  chair,  and  a  light 
ladder  whereby  the  higher  shelves  were  made  accessible. 
All  this  at  a  glance. 

Presently,  however,  a  number  of  details  challenged  Cap- 
tain Converse's  attention. 

First  of  all,  let  us,  as  briefly  as  possible,  dismiss  the 
grewsome,  silent  figure  in  the  centre  of  the  floor.  It  lay 
flat  upon  its  back  beside  the  desk-chair;  the  arms  were 
wide  outstretched,  and  a  dagger  handle  of  ebony,  or  some 
other  black  wood,  protruded  from  the  left  breast,  into  which 
the  blade  had  been  driven  to  the  hilt.  Surprisingly  little 
blood  had  found  its  way  through  the  wound,  since  the  blade 
must  have  been  reposing  in  the  stilled  heart  —  a  well-aimed, 
deadly  blow,  signifying  a  cool  and  sinister  intent.  Death 
could  not  have  ridden  more  swiftly  on  a  thunderbolt;  and 

[141] 


The  Silver  Blade 

plainly  it  had  met  its  victim  here  just  as  he  was  either  in  the 
act  of  rising  hastily  from  the  swivel-chair,  or  at  the  moment 
he  had  gotten  to  his  feet. 

A  brief  inspection  showed  that  most  of  the  room's  win- 
dows were  closed  and  fastened,  as  were  also  the  inside 
wooden  blinds,  and  that  lace  curtains  hung  from  the  ceiling 
to  the  window-seats. 

Before  the  table  the  swivel-chair  was  turned  so  that  it 
faced  two  pairs  of  French  windows  in  the  front  or  north  wall. 
These  opened  on  a  wide  veranda  extending  across  the  entire 
front  of  the  house.  One  pair  of  these  windows  now  stood 
open,  and  between  them  stood  the  room's  third  chair, —  the 
straight-backed  one, —  and  upon  it  the  Captain's  attention 
seemed  to  linger. 

If  General  Westbrook  had  been  seated  in  the  desk-chair, 
who  had  occupied  this  one  so  near  the  handily  opened  win- 
dow? It  faced  the  one  before  the  desk,  and  their  relative 
positions  irresistibly  suggested  a  tete-a-tete,  the  silent  figure 
on  the  floor  that  this  tete-a-tete  had  been  brought  to  an  abrupt 
and  violent  termination.  Both  chairs  had  been  forcibly 
pushed  back  a  foot  or  more,  as  if  the  occupants  of  each  had 
arisen  with  precipitation;  for  the  swivel -chair  had  raked  up 
one  end  of  a  magnificent  tiger-skin,  tearing  the  felt  lining;  and 
the  one  by  the  window  could  be  traced  back  to  where  it  had 
formerly  stood,  by  the  four  deep  scorings  that  its  legs  had 
made  in  the  polished  surface  of  the  floor. 

The  occupancy  of  the  straight-backed  chair  seemed  to 
contain  the  crux  of  the  matter.  And  here  was  presented 
another  suggestion:  whoever  had  chosen  a  seat  so  close  to 
the  open  window  had  done  so  with  an  eye  to  hasty  and  easy 
retreat.  This  spot  seemed  to  have  attracted  Mr.  Converse's 

[142] 


The  Second  Problem 

attention  immediately  after  his  first  cursory  glimpse;  he 
still  stood  just  inside  the  doorway,  and  his  eyes,  after  travel- 
ling over  various  details  of  the  scene  before  him,  returned 
again  and  again  to  the  vacant  seat. 

At  last  his  regard  rested  upon  Officer  Mike  Clancy,  stand- 
ing respectfully  at  attention,  and  he  pointed  to  the  object  of 
his  interest. 

"  Clancy,"  he  asked,  "  who  's  been  sitting  in  that  chair  ?  " 

"  Sure,  an'  there  's  been  no  wan,  sorr,  since  Oi  've  been 
in  the  room." 

"Not  yourself?" 

Clancy  cast  an  appreciative  glance  at  the  comfortable 
Morris  chair,  and  then  one  of  contempt  at  the  less  inviting 
seat. 

"  Oi  hov  not,"  he  replied,  with  deliberate  emphasis.  Such 
innocence  of  his  questioner's  intent  was  not  to  be  doubted: 
the  chairs  had  not  been  disturbed. 

If  the  Captain  evinced  an  unusual  interest  in  the  straight- 
backed  chair,  one  other  article  must  be  mentioned  to  which 
his  eye  reverted  many  times, —  the  nickel-plated  desk  tele- 
phone, overturned  upon  the  blotting-pad,  its  hooks  free  of 
the  receiver.  It  was  more  than  likely  that  when  Miss  West- 
brook  attempted  to  use  the  instrument  in  the  hall,  she 
received  no  response  from  Central,  the  line  already,  doubt- 
less, having  been  put  out  of  commission. 

Close  by  the  nerveless  fingers  of  the  General's  right  hand 
was  a  revolver.  An  inspection  of  this  revealed  a  weapon  of 
familiar  make,  of  .38  calibre;  and  the  pungent  odor  of  freshly 
burnt  powder,  which  still  clung  about  it,  together  with  two 
exploded  shells,  told  its  own  story  of  recent  and  apparently 
ineffectual  use. 

[143] 


The  Silver  Blade 

It  was  only  natural  to  turn  from  the  revolver  to  a  partially 
open  drawer  on  the  right  side  of  the  desk,  and  to  the  desk 
itself;  and  here  once  more  the  mute  witnesses  gave  their  un- 
spoken testimony.  Had  General  Westbrook  been  seated  at 
his  desk  writing  when  some  midnight  caller  interrupted  him  ? 
Had  a  conference  then  followed  which  crescendoed  rapidly 
through  the  various  stages  of  a  quarrel,  a  verbis  ad  verbera,  to 
a  sudden  resort  to  violence?  Well,  here  was  the  cover  off 
the  ink-well;  a  spreading  spot  of  ink  on  the  blotting-pad 
marked  where  a  pen  had  been  dropped;  a  tablet  was  con- 
veniently at  hand,  but  not  one  scrap  of  paper  that  had  been 
written  upon,  except  one  or  two  neat  piles  of  envelopes  con- 
taining letters  addressed  to  the  dead  man,  and  other  docu- 
ments of  various  kinds,  none  of  which,  probably,  had  en- 
gaged his  attention  during  the  minutes  preceding  the  abrupt 
blotting  out  of  his  life. 

But  in  these  particulars  could  be  read  the  fact  that  the 
unfortunate  gentleman  had,  some  time  during  the  night, 
been  actually  writing  at  his  desk.  Then,  t'he  chair  forcibly 
shoved  backward ;  the  right  hand,  overturning  the  telephone 
in  its  precipitancy,  flying  to  the  drawer  where  the  revolver 
reposed,  presented  a  picture  to  the  Captain's  mental  vision 
almost  as  comprehensive  as  a  photograph.  The  General 
had  not  been  surprised:  an  explanation  of  the  interval  be- 
tween the  dropping  of  the  pen  and  the  hurried  opening  of 
the  drawer  lay  in  the  occupancy  of  the  two  chairs ;  this  hiatus 
contained  the  whole  story  of  the  crime. 

Thoughtfully  Converse  set  the  telephone  upright  again. 
He  hung  the  receiver  upon  the  hooks,  and  after  a  minute  or 
so  of  waiting  endeavored  to  catch  Central.  But  it  was  of 
no  use;  no  response  came;  the  line  evidently  had  been,  as 

[144] 


The  Second  Problem 

he  had  already  thought,  "  cut  out "  as  being  out  of  order  — 
which  naturally  would  follow  upon  a  continuous  signal  with 
no  request  for  a  number. 

Next,  he  picked  up  the  writing-tablet,  and  upon  it  his 
scrutiny  became  almost  instantly  glued.  He  seemed  to  be 
as  absorbed  in  the  unsullied  whiteness  of  its  top  sheet  as  if  it 
had  been  covered  with  written  characters.  His  stiff  lips 
presently  pursed;  his  right  eyebrow  lifted  in  a  familiar 
quizzical  manner;  and  he  looked  from  the  tablet  in  his  hand 
to  the  fireplace,  black  and  cold.  After  all,  there  was  evi- 
dently a  message  in  those  blank  pages:  the  last  one  used 
had  been  hastily  and  carelessly  rent  from  the  binding  gum, 
as  the  saw-tooth  particles  of  paper  yet  adhering  to  the 
tablet,  in  this  one  instance,  affirmed. 

The  elderly  gentleman  who  had  admitted  the  two  officers 
had  been  watching  Mr.  Converse  with  as  much  interest  as 
that  evinced  by  McCaleb  himself,  and  the  young  patrolman 
was  taking  advantage  of  his  opportunity  greedily.  The 
elderly  gentleman  now  stepped  forward. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  began,  "  but  if  the  question  is  not  pre- 
mature, are  you  able  to  form  a  theory  ?  Have  you  any  idea 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  assassin  ?  " 

Converse  eyed  the  old  man  askance,  and  the  latter  went 
on  immediately: 

"  Besides  yourselves  and  Doctor  Bane  I  am  the  only  man 
in  the  house.  I  am  a  near  neighbor;  I  reside  on  the  opposite 
corner.  Wilson  is  my  name,  Slayden  Wilson.  I  was 
going  to  say,  that  perhaps  I  may  be  needed  else  —  " 

"  By  all  means,  don't  let  us  detain  you,"  urged  Converse 
with  suspicious  haste. 

"Thank  you.  And  if  you  require  anything  —  "  his  eye 
[145] 


The  Silver  Blade 

wandered  until  it  rested  upon  the  bell-button  beside  the 
door  —  "if  you  require  anything,  press  the  button  there." 

"Very  good,"  Converse  returned.  "Try  to  prepare  the 
ladies  for  a  meeting,  as  I  shall  want  to  question  them  —  the 
servants  too." 

The  old  gentleman  withdrew,  closing  the  door  noiselessly 
after  him. 

Mr.  Converse  still  held  the  writing-tablet  in  his  hand,  and 
now  he  laid  it  upon  the  table.     As  he  did  so,  McCaleb  - 
all  the  time  close  to  his  elbow  —  quietly  observed . 

"  Do  you  suppose  somebody  's  got  away  with  it,  sir  ? " 

"It  looks  that  way,"  the  older  man  replied,  abstractedly; 
then  abruptly  breaking  off,  he  fixed  a  keen  look  upon  the 
young  man.  "  What  do  you  mean,  McCaleb  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Are  you  not  looking  for  some  writing  ?  " 

"Aye,  aye,  Mac,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  the  speaker's 
glance  kindling  shrewdly,  "aye,  aye,  Mac,  you  are  correct." 

He  pointed  to  a  blotter  lying  on  the  desk. 

"See  there,  Mac;  my  fingers  are  just  itching  to  get  hold 
of  that  writing;  but  I  fear  it 's  gone.  Mac,  you  have  n't 
the  first  idea  of  its  importance." 

The  young  man  slowly  shook  his  head.  "  I  'm  afraid  not, 
sir,"  said  he  simply. 

"Well,  it 's  just  this:  if  we  had  it,  we  would  know  who 
is  —  "  The  speaker  dropped  suddenly  into  a  reverie,  leaving 
the  thought  incomplete.  He  picked  up  the  blotter  and  stared 
fixedly  at  it  for  a  moment;  laid  it  back  again  on  the  table, 
still  watching  it,  and  concluded  in  a  preoccupied  manner, 
"  What  a  game !  what  a  game !  How  near  —  and  how  far  — 
to  both  these  deaths ! " 

McCaleb  caught  his  breath. 
[146] 


The  Second  Problem 

"  You  don't  say ! "  he  exclaimed  in  a  whisper.  "  De 
Sanchez  —  " 

The  Captain  merely  nodded  once. 

The  blotter  all  at  once  became  an  object  of  magnetic 
interest  for  the  young  man,  and  he  bent  over  it  and  began 
studying  its  cryptic  markings  with  puckered  brow. 

"  See  what  you  can  make  of  it,"  suggested  Converse. 

After  a  while  McCaleb  stood  upright  again,  took  a  long 
breath,  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  can  make  nothing  of  it,"  said  he;  "the  lines  are  too 
crisscrossed  and  mixed,  the  fragments  of  words  too  short  and 
indistinct.  Maybe  —  if  I  had  a  lens  —  something  more  to 
go  on  —  " 

"But  is  there  nothing  that  particularly  attracts  your  at- 
tention ?  " 

Once  more  McCaleb  frowned  heavily  and  concentrated 
his  mind  upon  the  blotter. 

"  I  suppose  this  is  the  one  General  Westbrook  was  using  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"Yes." 

In  silence  he  studied  it  some  moments  longer.  ..."  No," 
said  he,  with  an  air  of  finality;  "  I  can  make  out  nothing  but 
a  lot  of  curlicues  that  look  like  figure  three 's  with  tails  to  'em. 
I  can't  imagine  what  they  mean." 

Converse  chuckled  in  his  throat.  "My  question  was 
hardly  fair,"  said  he.  "You  had  n't  the  advantages  in  the 
first  case  I  had.  I  '11  tell  you  this  much,  though :  they  're 
letter  Vs."' 

"Oh,  I  begin  to  see.  I  suppose  you  would  like  me  to 
confirm  your  opinion,  by  coming  independently  to  the  same 
conclusions.  Well,  I  '11  try  again." 

[147] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Once  more  the  Captain  nodded,  and  moved  over  to  the 
open  window. 

Without  touching  it,  he  began  carefully  to  look  over  the 
straight-backed  chair,  at  the  polished  hard-wood  floor  about 
it,  and  at  the  narrow  section  of  panelled  wall  behind  —  one 
of  the  room's  wall  spaces  uncovered  by  books.  Presently 
a  barely  audible  exclamation  escaped  him  —  a  mere  breath 
of  satisfaction,  which,  nevertheless,  instantly  brought  Mc- 
Caleb  to  his  side. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  the  young  man  asked,  breathlessly. 

The  Captain  pointed  to  a  small  round  hole  in  the  oak 
panel,  somewhat  lower  than  his  own  shoulder  as  he  stood, 
from  which  protruded  what  appeared  to  be  half  an  inch  of 
black  yarn. 

"You  '11  have  to  keep  yourself  better  in  hand,  Mac," 
was  his  only  verbal  recognition  of  the  young  man's  curi- 
osity, while  he  extracted  the  particle  of  fabric  from  the  tiny 
aperture. 

"Ah,  I  see,"  McCaleb  continued;  "General  Westbrook 
nearly  winged  him,  did  n't  he  ?  The  man  must  have  been 
standing  right  up  against  the  wall  to  have  the  bullet  carry 
away  a  piece  of  his  coat  like  that." 

Again  Converse  looked  at  the  young  man  appreciatively. 

"  We  '11  make  a  detective  of  you  yet,"  said  he.  "  But  the 
man  was  n't  standing  so  close  to  the  wall,  though.  And 
why  '  a  man '  ?  It  is  simply  one  of  those  rare  chances  where 
the  thread  of  cloth  clung  to  the  bullet  a  bit  longer  than  usual. 
If  you  '11  notice  the  floor  closely,  you  '11  see  —  from  this  chair, 
where  he  sat  for  some  time,  to  the  desk ;  from  the  desk  to  the 
window  there,  and  away.  What  that  person  took  with" 
the  briefest  of  pauses  before  the  pronoun  — "  him  I  'd  give  a 

[1481 


The  Second  Problem 

good  deal  to  have.  .  .  .  Those  are  about  the  actions  of  the 
General's  caller.  Do  you  notice  anything  peculiar  about 
the  footmarks  on  the  floor  ?  " 

The  Captain's  manner  was  quiet  and  deliberate;  and 
McCaleb,  the  pupil,  followed  the  vague  markings  with  the 
intentness  and  thoroughness  of  a  born  specialist.  Slight 
as  they  were,  the  imprints  would  have  been  lacking  entirely 
had  it  not  been  for  the  dampness  of  the  night ;  but  they  held 
a  meaning. 

"The  man  came  on  to  the  desk,"  McCaleb  began,  but 
paused.  "  I  suppose  it  was  a  man  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  answer  was  a  steady  look. 

In  a  moment  the  young  man  went  on :  "  Well,  the  party 
came  up  to  the  desk  after  stabbing  the  General.  I  imagine 
that 's  where  your  missing  paper  went  —  what  he  was  after. 
And  right  here  —  just  as  he  got  out  of  his  chair  —  he  seems 
to  have  slipped.  Probably  in  a  hurry;  or  else  the  bullet 
clipped  him  about  that  time  —  eh  ?  —  or  her." 

Converse  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "I  can't  say,"  he 
returned,  meditatively.  "  There  's  something  about  those 
footmarks  that  is  mighty  peculiar,  Mac;  I  can't  just  make  it 
out."  He  mused  a  moment  longer,  but  presently  bestirred 
himself  again.  "Two  shots  were  fired  from  that  gun,  you 
know,"  he  concluded;  "  have  you  located  the  other  bullet  ? " 

McCaleb  looked  blank  for  an  instant,  as  if  he  had  been 
guilty  of  some  vital  oversight.  However,  he  turned  at  once 
to  a  search  for  the  missing  bullet. 

The  glass  doors  before  the  books  simplified  the  matter 
somewhat :  the  radiating  lines  from  a  bullet-hole  in  one  of  the 
panes  would  be  so  conspicuous  that  the  most  cursory  glance 
would  scarcely  overlook  them.  Elsewhere  there  was  no 

[149] 


The  Silver  Blade 

indication  of  the  second  missile;  and  with  a  little  laugh 
McCaleb  abruptly  stopped  and  indicated  by  the  wave  of  a 
hand  the  open  window. 

"  If  you  have  eliminated  every  other  possibility,  all  right," 
said  Converse.  "Now,  Mac,  you  may  telephone  for  Mer- 
kel."  At  which  last  statement  McCaleb  smiled:  the  Coroner 
would  not  be  in  the  way  now. 

The  young  man  departed  on  his  errand,  and  Converse 
went  over  and  knelt  before  the  fireplace. 

To  Policeman  Clancy,  the  quiet,  self-contained,  confident 
man  scanning  the  bricks  and  the  crevices  between  them  with 
an  eagle-like  scrutiny  was  the  embodiment  of  awful  and 
mysterious  possibilities. 


150] 


CHAPTER  X 

FOOTPRINTS 

A  THOUGH  it  is  now  the  morning  of  November  seven- 
teenth, the  mild  and  spring-like  Southern  autumn  has 
not  yet  presented  any  wintry  aspects,  and  the  wide, 
old-fashioned  fireplace  in  the  Westbrook  library  gives  no 
indication  that  it  has  been  recently  used. 

If  any  papers  had  been  removed  from  the  General's  desk, 
they  had  not  been  destroyed  here  —  unless,  indeed,  the  fire- 
place had  been  cleaned  since  midnight,  which  was  scarcely 
likely.  Still,  the  Captain  continued  to  scrutinize  the  bricks ; 
and  when  McCaleb  returned,  he  was  carefully  picking  be- 
tween them  with  the  point  of  his  pencil. 

"Find  anything?"  asked  the  young  man,  as  Converse 
stood  upright. 

"No;  and  yet,  some  paper  has  been  burnt  here  recently. 
But  it  could  not  have  been  the  missing  one.  .  .  .  Have  you 
a  pocket -lamp  ?  " 

From  the  recesses  of  his  blue  coat  McCaleb  produced  a 
short  black  tube  with  a  bull's-eye  in  one  end  —  an  electric 
dark-lantern,  operated  by  the  simple  means  of  pressing  and 
releasing  a  button  in  its  side.  This  the  Captain  took  and 
moved  toward  the  open  window.  He  got  down  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  looked  intently  at  the  sill,  and,  still  in  a  crouching 
attitude,  passed  out  to  the  veranda  —  or,  in  local  parlance, 
"  gallery  "-  -  McCaleb  following  close  behind.  His  course 
led  him  directly  to  the  east  end,  where  he  cautioned  his 
companion  to  move  carefully. 


The  Silver  Blade 

"I  want  to  examine  these  marks  again  by  daylight,"  he 
explained;  "but  they  are  pretty  distinct  even  now.  There 
is  just  enough  moisture  to-night  to  soften  the  turf  and  cause 
smaller  bits  of  gravel  from  the  driveway  to  cling  to  one's 
feet." 

While  talking,  he  flashed  the  light  upon  various  points 
between  the  gallery's  edge  and  the  open  window. 

"See,  Mac;  just  like  the  traces  inside.  Lucky  —  there 
might  have  been  none." 

Together  they  moved  silently,  swiftly;  their  eyes  kindling 
with  a  keen  alertness  that  missed  not  the  least  particular. 
The  nature  of  the  occasional  brief  comments  indulged  in  by 
one  or  the  other  indicated  clearly  that  each  took  it  for  granted 
that  their  thoughts  were  running  in  the  same  channel. 

McCaleb's  thin,  aquiline  features  were  tense,  his  black 
eyes  fairly  luminous  with  eager  concentration. 

"  Strange  way  to  make  a  call,"  he  muttered,  peering  over 
the  end  of  the  gallery.  "  Seems  to  have  come  openly,  too." 

The  response  was  an  indefinite  sound,  incapable  of  inter- 
pretation by  any  written  character. 

All  at  once  Converse  diverted  the  beam  of  light  to  the 
ground,  immediately  voicing  a  feeling  of  satisfaction,  of 
doubt  removed. 

"  It  was  a  man !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Look !  " 

There  in  the  turf  at  the  end  of  the  gallery  was  a  clearly 
defined  imprint  of  a  masculine  shoe  heel. 

"  Careful  there,  Mac,"  the  Captain  went  on,  as  the  other 
started  to  let  himself  down  to  the  ground;  "go  as  far  to  the 
right  as  you  can." 

They  moved  rapidly  over  the  lawn,  one  on  each  side  of  a 
very  plain  trail. 

[1521 


Footprints 

"And  look  here!  "  McCaleb  presently  cried.  Both  came 
to  a  stop.  The  distinct  imprints  of  two  heels  lay  nearly  side 
by  side,  the  only  apparent  difference  between  them  being 
that  one  pointed  toward  the  house  and  the  other  away 
from  it. 

"The  fellow  departed  just  as  he  came,"  was  the  older 
man's  comment ;  "  straight  from  the  end  of  the  gallery  to  the 
drive.  Not  much  to  be  seen  there,  though  —  too  hard. 
But  let  us  try  it." 

With  Converse  going  in  advance  and  flashing  the  light 
from  side  to  side,  they  started  down  the  driveway.  They 
had  advanced  but  a  short  distance  when  the  leader  came  to 
an  abrupt  pause. 

"Hello!"  he  ejaculated,  softly;  "our  caller  left  by  a 
different  route  after  all.  Now,  why  did  he  turn  off  here  ?  " 

The  driveway  lay  between  two  parallel  rows  of  cedars, 
set  so  closely  that  they  almost  formed  a  hedge.  Simulta- 
neously with  the  exclamation,  Converse  stepped  to  one  side, 
directing  the  light  to  a  spot  beneath  the  low-hanging 
branches.  Here  the  shadow  was  so  dense,  even  in  daytime, 
that  the  soil  was  quite  free  from  grass  or  any  growth, 
excepting  a  few  wan,  straw-like  weeds;  it  was,  besides,  quite 
moist. 

"Tiptoeing,  too,  you  see,"  went  on  the  Captain.  "He 
took  alarm  at  something.  .  .  .  One  solitary,  isolated  heel- 
mark;  I  wonder  if  he  's  left  an  entire  footprint  anywhere?  " 

"You  can  see  where  he  pressed  through  the  branches," 
observed  McCaleb. 

"Yes.  If  he  followed  a  straight  course,  he  struck  the 
walk  at  about  the  front  gate.  Come  a  little  farther  down 
the  drive." 

fl53l 


The  Silver  Blade 

Nearly  every  step  of  this  sally  into  the  night  presented 
something  novel  to  the  two  eager  searchers.  They  had  pro- 
ceeded but  a  few  yards,  when  of  a  sudden  the  leader  once 
more  came  to  a  halt,  at  the  same  time  extending  a  restrain- 
ing hand. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Mac,"  he  admonished.  He  dropped  to  one 
knee  and  cast  the  eye  of  light  about  over  the  space  in  front 
of  him.  "There's  been  some  one  else  here,"  he  presently 
announced  in  his  whisper;  "somebody  's  been  standing  here 
and  moving  about  —  quite  a  while  to  kick  up  the  hard 
gravel  like  this.  Explains  why  the  other  turned  off  back 
there.  .  .  .  A-h-h  — 

A  quizzical  lifting  of  the  eyebrow  —  a  puckering  of  the 
lips  —  absorbed  the  thought. 

A  little  hollow,  worn  by  the  passage  of  many  wheels  over 
the  hard  road-bed,  was  filled  with  the  product  of  attrition 
—  a  soft  sand,  fine  and  plastic ;  and  to  this  the  Captain 
pointed.  McCaleb  could  see  the  outline  of  a  small  French 
heel,  and  beside  it  a  second,  which  had  been  partially  obliter- 
ated by  another  foot  —  the  latter  unmistakably  masculine. 

"A  woman!  "  the  young  man  breathed;  his  astonishment 
was  complete.  "  Well,  well !  a  woman,  after  all."  He  looked 
at  the  Captain  with  open  curiosity;  but  Mr.  Converse  was 
grimly  silent. 

If  he  had  been  alive  before  to  overlook  no  possible  detail, 
tne  concentration  with  which  he  now  began  an  inspection 
of  the  driveway  seemed  to  include  within  his  scrutiny  each 
separate  grain  of  sand. 

"Don't  move,"  he  curtly  enjoined;  McCaleb  instantly 
froze. 

Slowly,  inch  by  inch,  he  went  over  a  space  covering  the 
[154] 


Footprints 

radius  of  about  a  rod  from  where  they  had  paused.  Again 
and  again  he  returned  to  the  footprints  in  the  little  depres- 
sion, and  once  he  passed  swiftly  back  to  the  point  where  the 
first  trail  diverged  from  the  driveway  so  abruptly.  He  ex- 
amined the  solitary  heelmark  here  with  an  added  interest, 
in  the  end  producing  from  his  pocket  a  finely  graduated 
ivory  rule,  which  he  applied  to  the  print  in  a  variety  of  ways. 

Returning  again  to  the  depression,  he  made  a  careful 
comparison  by  means  of  the  measure.  At  last  he  turned  to 
McCaleb. 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  disturb  something,"  he  ex- 
plained. "Our  trail  is  becoming  a  little  involved;  it  was 
too  plain  to  last.  This  promises  to  be  a  wonderful  case, 
Mac,  —  a  wonderful  case.  I  wish  I  were  twenty  years 
younger." 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Converse  considered  before  replying,  and  when  he 
did  his  whisper  was  no  more  than  audible. 

"  Mac,  keep  this  to  yourself,  and  do  not  ask  me  to  go  any 
farther  into  it  just  now."  He  threw  the  light  upon  the  young 
man's  sharp-featured  countenance,  and  subjected  it  to  a 
momentary  but  searching  scrutiny.  "  A  woman  was  here," 
he  went  on,  "and  some  man;  but  I  'm  afraid  her  identity 
will  cause  a  devil  of  a  mess." 

It  was  obvious  that  he  was  much  impressed  by  what  he 
had  read  in  the  driveway,  and  he  presently  concluded,  in  a 
vastly  altered  manner: 

"You  see,  Mac,  how  carefully  one  must  act  in  a  case  of 
this  kind;  there  is  never  any  telling  what  might  turn  up, 
nor  what  a  lot  of  needless  worry  —  not  to  say  danger  —  an 
innocent  person  may  be  made  to  suffer.  The  fact  that  a 

[155] 


The  Silver  Blade 

woman  figures  so  prominently  in  the  De  Sanchez  case,  and 
yet  is  kept  in  the  shadowy  background,  coupled  with  the  fact 
that  we  have  stumbled  upon  these  impressions  here,  looks 
pretty  bad  for  that  woman  if  she  happens  to  be  the  same  in 
both  instances.  It  may  be  only  a  coincidence,  but  a  man 
and  woman  were  here  —  here  when  General  Westbrook  was 
done  to  his  death,  and  here  when  the  assassin  departed. 
Why  ?  Now  let  us  drop  this  as  though  it  had  never  come  to 
our  knowledge  —  until  we  know  more.  ...  I  believe  you 
said  Mrs.  Westbrook  wore  some  sort  of  evening  gown  when 
you  and  Clancy  got  here." 

"Yes,  she  did;  Miss  Westbrook,  too." 

"  Did  you  notice  what  colors  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Westbrook's  costume  was  of  some  light  color, 
but  Miss  Westbrook's  was  — 

With  a  startled  exclamation  the  young  man  stopped  and 
stared  strangely  at  Converse.  For  some  incomprehensible 
reason  his  mind  was  flooded  with  the  vision  of  a  bit  of  fabric 
protruding  from  a  bullet-hole  in  a  carved  oak  panel. 

"Well?"  curtly. 

"  Black,"  McCaleb  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  dead  black." 

For  a  moment  the  Captain  returned  the  other's  regard 
in  silence;  then  he  said  in  his  customary  quiet  way: 

"Very  good,  Mac.  Now,  let  us  get  through  with  the 
driveway." 

They  proceeded  to  the  handsome  wrought-iron  gates,  but 
without  observing  anything  more  of  moment;  and  passing 
through  them  to  the  sidewalk,  they  continued  to  the  front 
gate.  Just  inside  the  latter  the  Captain  paused  and  indi- 
cated with  the  lamp  the  bordering  bed  of  flowers. 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  he  observed;  "here's  where  the 
[156] 


Footprints 

midnight  caller  made  his  exit.  Still  tiptoeing,  too  —  see  ? 
The  bed  was  a  little  too  wide  for  him  to  jump  across,  and 
his  toe  sank  deep  into  the  soft  earth  —  an  active,  athletic 
man  to  make  a  jump  like  that.  He  cut  right  across  the  lawn 
from  the  driveway." 

The  attention  of  the  two  was  now  diverted  by  the  sound  of 
a  rapidly  driven  horse  being  brought  to  an  abrupt  standstill, 
and  both  paused  to  listen.  Presently  the  front  gate  clanged, 
and  an  approaching  dim  figure  finally  resolved  itself  into  the 
ponderous  form  of  the  Coroner. 

"Bless  my  soul!  Captain  Converse!  "  he  cried,  as  soon 
as  he  recognized  the  Captain.  "  Here  we  are  together  again. 
This  is  dreadful  —  dreadful,  is  n't  it  ?  "  After  he  had  given 
expression  to  his  feelings  at  some  length  in  a  similar  strain, 
the  Captain  saw  an  opportunity  to  interrupt. 

"  Mr.  Merkel,  you  must  let  me  run  this  thing  for  a  while.' 

The  other  looked  blank. 

"  Oh,  all  I  desire  is  a  day  or  two  unhampered  —  "  Con- 
verse paused,  tentatively. 

"  Well  —  er  —  ah  —  as  to  that,"  returned  the  Coroner, 
in  his  important,  official  manner, —  "  as  to  that,  John,  I  can- 
not commit  myself  to  act  against  my  better  judgment." 

"I  should  say  not!"  exclaimed  Converse,  apparently 
amazed  at  the  implication  that  he  could  harbor  such  a 
thought. 

"It  is  my  desire,  of  course,"  the  other  went  on,  with  a 
comical,  heavy  air  of  patronage  that  made  McCaleb  confide 
a  thin-lipped  smile  to  the  darkness,  "  that  we  work  together 
in  perfect  harmony ;  I  wish  to  aid  to  the  extent  of  my  powers ; 
but  there  are  responsibilities  attaching  to  my  office  ;  there 
are  responsibilities  — 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  To  be  sure  there  are,"  Converse  interrupted  with  prompt 
acquiescence;  "and  with  your  permission,  I  will  assume 
them  entirely.  Now,  what  I  want  is,  that  you  will  not  act 
at  all  for  a  while.  Of  course  you  will  not.  Delay  the  inquest 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  I  will  show  you  some  things  that  will 
astonish  you." 

"Very  well,"  responded  Mr.  Merkel,  after  a  moment  of 
gravid  deliberation;  "I  agree  to  be  guided  by  you  for  the 
present  —  within  certain  limits,  of  course, —  unless  my  better 
judgment  — 

"Good!  very  good!"  was  the  satisfied  interruption. 
"  We  '11  handle  this  conscientiousness  of  yours  as  if  it  were 
cut  glass ; "  and  passing  his  hand  beneath  Mr.  Merkel's  arm 
with  an  air  of  irresistible  cordiality,  the  Captain  added, 
"Now,  let  us  go  to  the  house.  Come,  Mac." 

The  elderly  gentleman,  Mr.  Slayden  Wilson,  met  the  trio 
in  the  hall,  and  to  his  tender  mercies  Converse  intrusted  the 
Coroner  with  a  request  that  the  latter  be  conducted  to  the 
library.  "Then  return  to  me  here,"  he  concluded,  still 
addressing  the  guide. 

Mr.  Converse  watched  the  two  disappear;  then  seated 
himself,  and  soon  was  in  a  deep  study.  McCaleb  was  not 
without  skill  himself,  but  their  discoveries  of  the  night  told 
him  no  more  than  what  they  might  baldly  signify  to  any 
observer,  and  he  watched  the  Captain,  filled  with  a  deep 
curiosity,  but  too  accustomed  to  discipline  to  ask  questions. 

With  a  slight  shake  of  the  head,  like  a  diver  coming  to  the 
surface  of  a  pool,  Mr.  Converse  presently  came  out  of  his 
meditations,  and  immediately  brought  joy  to  the  heart  of 
McCaleb. 

"Mac,"  said  he,  "your  detective  career  begins  to-night. 
[158] 


Footprints 

A  word  from  me  to  the  Commission  depends  upon  the  way 
you  accomplish  what  I  want  you  to  do.  See  every  darkey  on 
the  place,  singly,  and  find  out  —  first,  what  time  Miss  West- 
brook  returned  home  last  night,  and  if  she  returned  alone; 
second,  was  anybody  at  all  seen  skulking  about  the  prem- 
ises during  the  night;  third,  were  any  shots  heard,  how 
many,  at  what  time,  and  what  was  thought  of  the  occur- 
rence. Let  them  talk;  impressions  are  sometimes  of  value. 
Now  go." 

As  the  young  man  departed  for  the  servants'  quarters, 
Mr.  Slayden  Wilson  reappeared. 

"Now,  then,"  Converse  began  at  once,  "I  suppose  at 
present  the  ladies  are  not  in  a  condition  to  be  seen  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  sir;  I  could  not  disturb  them  now;  Doctor  Bane 
has  succeeded  in  getting  them  to  sleep.  They  know  nothing, 
however;  I  can  assure  you  of  that.  This  terrible  tragedy 
has  been  a  prostrating  shock  to  both  of  them." 

"  Well,  that  can  wait.  I  want  the  servant  who  attended 
the  door  to-night  and  Miss  Westbrook's  maid.  If  they  're 
asleep,  wake  'em  up." 

"Sam  and  Melissa  are  quite  ready;  I  took  occasion  to 
impress  upon  them  the  necessity  of  remaining  cool  under 
the  ordeal  of  a  searching  examination,  and  if  they  are  in 
possession  of  any  facts  you  will  surely  learn  them.  You 
will  find  Sam  quite  intelligent  for  a  darkey ;  but  I  am  certain 
that  both  are  ignorant  of  —  " 

"We  '11  see,"  was  the  curt  interruption;  "hurry,  please." 

And  Mr.  Wilson  disappeared,  noiselessly,  up  the  broad 
stairway. 

In  a  short  time  he  returned,  closely  followed  by  a 
stout,  middle-aged  negress,  whose  face,  much  swollen  with 

[159] 


The  Silver  Blade 

weeping,  reflected  the  degree  of  terror  often  described  as 
speechless.  She  approached  Mr.  Converse  with  obvious 
reluctance  and  trepidation ;  but  upon  observing  her  condition 
his  sternness  relaxed,  and  he  sought  to  reassure  her  that  he 
was  somewhat  less  formidable  than  an  ogre. 

"Sam  is  in  the  servants'  quarters,"  Mr.  Slayden  Wilson 
explained.  "  He  does  not  fully  realize  what  the  taking  away 
of  a  kind  master  and  friend  means.  Ordinarily  he  is  in- 
clined to  be  jocular,  and  the  shock  has  not  yet  had  time  to 
exert  its  sobering  influence,  so  pray  overlook  any  facetious- 
ness  or  apparent  levity." 

*'  Very  good  —  if  you  will  only  fetch  him." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  calm  Melissa  when  it  became  evi- 
dent to  her  understanding  that  this  burly,  unassuming  man 
desired  nothing  more  momentous  of  her  than  the  shoes  worn 
the  preceding  night  by  her  mistress. 

Miss  Joyce's  shoes  —  the  idea! 

But  astonishment  and  awakened  curiosity  made  her 
pliable,  and  the  articles  of  apparel  were  not  long  in  forth- 
coming. 

Converse  placed  one  on  the  palm  of  his  right  hand;  but 
whatever  of  softness  and  femininity  it  might  have  imparted, 
such  influences  were  apparently  lost  upon  the  impassive  figure 
who  scrutinized  it  so  closely.  His  cold  eyes  took  in  the  fact 
that  the  heel  and  sole  were  stained  with  yellow  sand,  and 
that  innumerable  bits  of  fine  gravel  yet  clung  to  it. 

To  any  person  beneath  that  roof  —  save  himself  and  Mc- 
Caleb,  of  course, —  the  circumstance  would  have  appeared 
ridiculously  trifling,  yet  it  made  him  terribly,  dangerously 
silent  and  absorbed. 

"Fo'  de  Ian'  sake,  seh,"  said  Melissa,  unable  longer  to 
[160] 


Footprints 

restrain  her  wonder,  "what  you  see  in  Miss  Joyce's  shoe 
to  stare  at  hit  dat  erway  ?  " 

What,  indeed?  But  the  Captain  did  not  reply  directly; 
he  handed  the  little  shoe  back  to  Melissa,  saying : 

"  I  hear  Sam  coming;  but  I  have  n't  heard  yet  where  the 
ladies  were  last  night  —  at  a  ball,  perhaps  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  seh;   dey  wuz  at  Miz  Farquier's  'ception." 

"To  be  sure.  And  Miss  Westbrook  was  feeling  badly 
and  came  home  before  her  mother.  .  .  .  Wait  there,  Sam; 
I  '11  be  ready  for  you  in  two  seconds.  .  .  .  That 's  how  she 
happened  to  find  her  father,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  seh,"  was  the  reply;  and  Melissa  proceeded  to 
tell  all  she  knew  of  the  circumstance. 

Further  than  that  the  hour  was  late,  she  did  not 
know  when  Miss  Westbrook  returned  from  the  Farquier 
reception.  The  young  lady  had  come  up  the  stairs  alone, 
roused  her  maid,  and  inquired  for  her  father,  who  had  been 
feeling  ill  for  a  week  or  more,  and  upon  being  informed  that 
he  was  still  in  the  library,  she  went  at  once  downstairs  again. 
The  rest  was  confusion  in  the  darkey's  mind. 

"So  Miss  Westbrook  came  upstairs  before  entering  the 
library  ?  "  asked  the  Captain. 

"Oh,  yes,  seh;  she  suttenly  did." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"I  don'  know;  I  des  knows  hit,"  was  the  rather  enig- 
matic reply.  "  What  fo'  she  ax  me  'bout  her  pa,  if  she  done 
been  in  de  lib'ry  ?  " 

Obviously,  it  was  useless  to  answer  this  reasoning. 

Sam,  the  butler,  had  somewhat  more  to  tell.  It  was  his 
duty  to  make  everything  fast  after  the  family  were  all  in  of 
a  night,  and  he  had  been  dozing  in  his  waiting-room  off  the 

[161] 


The  Silver  Blade 

rear  hall.  About  midnight  he  had  been  startled  into  wake- 
fulness  by  a  sound  which  he  took  to  be  a  shot;  but  failing 
to  locate  its  source,  and  hearing  nothing  more,  he  settled 
himself  for  another  nap,  when  Miss  Westbrook  arrived  and 
he  was  obliged  to  admit  her.  She  was  a  trifle  flushed  and 
out  of  breath,  as  if  she  had  been  running. 

"  I  ax  her  ef  she  seen  somebody  in  de  yahd,"  added  Sam. 
"  When  I  ax  dat,  she  look  at  me  mighty  queer;  den  she  laugh 
an*  say :  '  Why,  de  idea,  Sam !  You  must  have  been  dream- 
ing.' '  She  then  laughed  again  softly,  and  ran  lightly  up 
the  stairs. 

About  when  there  had  last  been  a  fire  in  the  library,  Sam 
spoke  at  some  length. 

"  Lemme  see,  seh,"  he  beat  his  memory.  "  On  Sunday 
Marse  Peyton  went  to  Belief ontaine,  de  plantation,  an'  de 
nex'  night  Marse  Howa'd  Lynden  an'  Clay  Fai'chile  was 
heah  to  see  Miss  Joyce.  I  minds  dat,  seh,  kase  dey  both 
sot  an'  sot  dere  eyin'  one  an'er  lak  dey  wanter  see  which 
can  stay  de  longes',  wiv  Miss  Joyce  pokin'  fun  at  'em  all  de 
time.  Bimeby  Marse  Peyton  come  in,  an'  de  young  gen'l- 
men  dey  goes  home.  Miss  Joyce  see  dat  Marse  Peyton  is 
cold  an'  wo'n  out.  She  tole  me  to  make  a  fiah  in  de  lib'ry, 
while  she  mix  him  a  toddy.  Dat  was  a  Monday  night  — 
de  second  Monday  befoah  Marse  de  Sanchez  got  kilt." 

"That  would  be  in  October." 

"  Yes,  seh.  I  minds  it  was  de  fust  night  Miss  Joyce  been 
right  peart  sence  Marse  de  Sanchez  been  comin'  to  de  house, 
an'  Marse  Peyton  was  mighty  glad  to  see  her  dat  way." 

There  had  been  no  fire  since  until  the  morning  before  the 
General's  death,  when  Sam  discovered  that  some  papers  had 
evidently  been  destroyed  in  the  library  fireplace,  the  ashes 

[162] 


Footprints 

of  which  had  blown  out  over  the  floor.     He  had  procured 
a  broom  and  dustpan  and  removed  them. 

"  What  do  you  do  with  the  ashes,  Sam  ?  "  asked  Converse. 

"Dere  's  a  ash-hopper  in  de  stable-yahd;  de  niggers 
leaches  'em  for  lye,  seh." 

"  Have  they  made  any  lye  recently  ?  " 

They  had  not,  and  the  subject  of  ashes  was  temporarily 
dropped. 

Responding  to  further  questions,  Sam  could  not  say 
whether  the  General  had  received  any  disquieting  message 
by  mail  or  otherwise;  but  he  had  been  "po'ly"  for  about  a 
week,  and  against  his  rather  vigorous  objections  Doctor 
Bane  had  been  called  by  Miss  Joyce. 

"Well,  Sam,  I  guess  that  is  all  for  the  present,"  Mr. 
Converse  was  concluding,  when  a  startling  period  was  put 
to  his  words.  Hasty  footsteps  on  the  gallery,  a  ringing  of 
the  bell,  accompanied  by  a  wild  beating  upon  the  door, 
announced  somebody's  frantic  haste  and  impatience  to  enter. 
"  Quick  Sam !  Open  the  door,"  he  commanded,  shortly. 

At  once  Doctor  Westbrook  strode  across  the  threshold, 
breathless  and  quivering  with  agitation.  His  eyes  lighted 
instantly  upon  Converse,  and  with  a  quick  intake  of  breath 
he  stopped  short. 

"It 's  true,  then!  "  burst  incontinently  from  him.  "My 
God,  it 's  true!  Is  my  father  dead  ?  Where  is  he ?  " 

But  before  there  was  time  for  any  reply,  an  inarticulate, 
half-repressed  cry  sounded  from  the  stairway,  and  the  next 
instant  Captain  Converse  beheld  a  figure  in  a  loose,  flowing, 
white  dishabille  rush  swiftly,  lightly  down  the  steps,  and 
precipitate  itself  into  the  open  arms  of  the  physician. 

"Mobley!" 

[163] 


The  Silver  Blade 

The  word  was  wrung  from  the  figure  in  a  sobbing,  de- 
spairing cry. 

But  why  should  Mr.  Converse's  aspect  abruptly  become 
so  grim  and  portentous  ?  Did  the  odor  of  stephanotis  blind 
him  utterly  to  the  brother's  and  sister's  grief  ? 

At  any  rate,  he  certainly  sniffed  once  more,  and,  with  a 
dubious  shake  of  the  head,  walked  away  and  left  them  alone 
together. 


[164] 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  BURNT  FRAGMENT 

WHEN  Mr.  Converse  so  abruptly    left   the    brother 
and  sister  in  the  hall,  he  proceeded  directly  to  the 
library,  whence  the  body  had  already  been  removed. 
Merkel  had  left  the  room,  so  he  found  himself  quite  alone 
with  his  own  thoughts,  which,  for  a  time,  turned  sombrely 
upon  what  was  to  him  entirely  an  unknown  quantity :  — 
Joyce.     After  a  while  he  seated  himself  in  the  swivel-chair, 
and  fell  to  contemplating  the  cryptic  blotter. 

Under  his  methodical  examination  the  tangled  lines  finally 
resolved  themselves  into  portions  of  written  words,  —  all 
backwards,  of  course, —  and  of  more  or  less  length  according 
to  the  extent  the  ink  of  the  original  writing  had  dried  before 
the  application  of  the  blotter. 

In  the  first  place,  if  the  blotter  had  been  a  new  one  or 
nearly  so  when  it  was  last  used,  then  the  writing  upon  which 
General  Westbrook  had  been  engaged  the  preceding  night 
was  lengthy.  Again,  the  longest  line  was  one  which  had  been 
heavily  underscored;  it  contained  three  words  fairly  easy 
to  decipher,  and  a  portion  of  a  fourth.  When  reversed  they 

read:  " ndum  of  Castillo  Estate."     As  Converse 

perused  it  he  felt  a  strange  thrill,  a  feeling  of  exultation, 
run  through  his  big  frame,  as  if  something  tangible  to  work 
upon  were  at  last  before  his  eyes;  he  read  in  it  a  hope  that 
he  would  not  have  to  do  with  a  Herodias  or  a  Semiramis. 

"Memorandum  of  Castillo  Estate" — evidently,  from  the 
[165] 


The  Silver  Blade 

heaviness  with  which  it  had  been  written  and  underlined, 
was  the  caption  of  the  lost  document. 

There  was  one  letter  which,  in  connection  with  others 
and  fragments  of  other  letters,  was  repeated  no  less  than 
twelve  times  —  the  letter  "  z, "  McCaleb's  curlicue.  What 
could  the  absorbed  reader  conclude  otherwise  than  that  he 
had  an  even  dozen  terminations  of  the  name  De  Sanchez? 
Clearly,  then,  the  missing  document  had  primarily  to  do  with 
the  estate  of  one  Castillo, —  a  name  with  which  Converse 
was  not  entirely  unfamiliar,  as  shall  later  on  be  seen,  —  and 
Alberto  de  Sanchez  had  been  intimately  connected  therewith. 
So  much  for  the  blotter. 

His  cogitations  were  interrupted  by  the  simultaneous 
entrance  of  McCaleb  and  Doctor  Westbrook.  The  latter 
sank  heavily  into  the  Morris  chair  and  into  a  brooding  reverie 
that  ignored  the  others,  while  the  Captain  drew  McCaleb 
into  the  embrasure  of  the  bay-window  behind  the  desk. 

"Well?"  he  queried. 

"  Well,  sir,  to  begin  with,  I  Ve  learned  some  queer  things 
from  the  darkies,  especially  Stonewall  Jackson,  the  coach- 
man. Trust  the  servants,  sir,  to  know  what  their  masters 
are  about.  I  '11  make  what  I  got  from  Stonewall  as  brief 
as  possible." 

It  appeared  that  Miss  Westbrook,  on  a  plea  of  headache, 
had  slipped  away,  unnoticed  by  the  company,  from  the  Far- 
quier  residence,  at  about  ten  o'clock,  the  coachman  driving 
her  directly  home.  She  had  dismissed  him  at  the  gate,  with 
instructions  to  go  at  once  and  wait  for  her  mother.  Mrs. 
Westbrook  did  not  depart  from  the  reception  till  near  mid- 
night, at  which  time  she  appeared  in  much  haste,  command- 
ing Stonewall  to  hurry.  McCaleb  continued: 

[166] 


A  Burnt  Fragment 

"Mrs.  Westbrook  seemed  to  be  anxious  and  impatient 
to  get  home.  Stonewall  noticed  that  all  the  way  she  con- 
tinued to  lean  forward  and  peer  into  the  shadows  beneath 
the  trees  which  line  the  sidewalk  on  either  side  of  the  street. 
I  fancy  her  servants  do  not  venture  to  take  any  liberties  with 
Mrs.  Westbrook,  but  Stonewall  could  not  refrain  from  asking 
if  she  was  looking  for  some  one;  she  paid  no  attention  to 
him,  and  he  commenced  watching  the  sidewalk  on  his  own 
account.  Is  n't  it  pretty  plain  she  had  some  reason  to  be 
suspicious  of  the  young  lady's  manoeuvres  last  night  ?  " 

The  response  was  merely  a  nod. 

"  Now  then,  when  the  carriage  was  about  midway  between 
Tenth  and  Eleventh  streets,  and  nearing  this  corner,  Stone- 
wall suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  man  in  the  act  of  turning 
from  Vine  Street  to  Tenth.  He  was  coming  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  house,  and  he  disappeared  in  the  shadows  beneath 
the  shade  trees  so  quickly  that  he  could  n't  have  told  who  it 
was  even  if  he  had  known  him.  Before  the  carriage  got  to 
the  corner  another  man  showed  up,  who  seemed  to  be  fol- 
lowing the  first;  for  he  stepped  right  into  the  glare  of  the 
electric  light  at  the  corner,  and  stood  looking  down  Tenth 
Street  after  the  other  fellow.  The  carriage  was  rapidly  near- 
ing  the  corner,  and  all  at  once  Mrs.  Westbrook  spotted  Num- 
ber Two.  As  soon  as  she  saw  him,  Stonewall  says,  she 
laughed  in  a  quiet  way,  and  leaned  back  in  the  seat  as  though 
she  had  either  found  what  she  was  looking  for,  or  was  satis- 
fied that  any  suspicions  she  might  have  had  were  unfounded." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  Of  course  Stonewall  did  n't  put  it  in  just  the  way  I  have. 
I  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  his  meaning,  and  I  am  using 
my  own  choice  of  words  in  repeating  what  he  said.  The 

[1671 


The  Silver  Blade 

point  is,  that  just  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Westbrook  saw  this  man 
she  was  relieved  of  some  anxiety  or  fear." 

"  Ah !  And  who  was  this  mysterious  stranger  ?  —  for 
I  see  you  know  him." 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  '11  get  to  that  immediately." 

"Go  on." 

"  Well,  suddenly  Number  Two  became  aware  of  the  ap- 
proaching carriage,  and  it 's  plain  he  did  n't  want  to  be  seen 
after  all;  he  was  so  bent  on  watching  Number  One,  when 
he  stepped  so  briskly  into  the  light,  that  he  was  heedless  of 
his  own  actions.  He  wheeled  around,  gave  one  glance 
toward  the  carriage,  and  disappeared  down  Tenth  Street  as 
quickly  as  the  other  man  had.  But  during  that  brief  look 
Stonewall  had  an  opportunity  to  recognize  him." 

"And  it  was  —  " 

"Lynden." 

If  Mr.  Converse  was  surprised  he  showed  it  not  at  all; 
he  said  nothing,  and  McCaleb,  after  eyeing  him  a  moment, 
continued : 

"  The  darkies  all  had  a  lot  to  say ;  but  there  was  only  one 
thing  more  that  struck  me  as  being  important,  and  I  got  it 
out  of  a  little  yellow  wench  —  a  sort  of  housemaid.  She 
says  General  Westbrook  was  hoodooed  last  Monday  night 
-  the  night  of  the  De  Sanchez  inquest,  Captain, —  and  her 
yarn  has  made  quite  an  impression  on  the  other  darkies." 

The  speaker  suddenly  felt  that  his  hearer's  interest  had 
quickened,  and  he  paused  an  instant  to  marshal  his  thoughts. 
But  Converse  interposed  with  a  quickness  that  indicated 
impatience  to  hear  all  there  was  to  be  related. 

"  You  did  n't  let  it  go  at  that,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  no.  Sally's  story  amounts  to  this.  General 
[168] 


A  Burnt  Fragment 

Westbrook  has  not  been  sick  at  all;  he  was  hoodooed  by  a 
black  man  that  was  n't  a  nigger." 

"  'A  black  man  not  a  nigger'?"  Converse  repeated, 
vaguely.  "What  the  deuce!  "  He  clapped  McCaleb  up- 
on the  shoulder  with  such  suddenness  that  it  startled  him. 
"  Mac,  you  're  a  jewel !  "  he  ejaculated,  with  a  very  noticeable 
moderation  of  his  sibilant  voice.  "  Go  on." 

"I  'm  glad  the  matter  is  intelligible  to  you,  Captain;  I 
confess  — 

"  Never  mind  now ;  get  ahead  with  your  yarn.  .  .  .  Mon- 
day night  —  the  night  of  the  inquest  —  after  he  had  gotten 
home  —  on  Tuesday  they  called  in  Doctor  Bane  —  Sam 
missed  that  messenger.  I  see.  Good!  Good!  What 
next?" 

"Well,  this  black  man  brought  the  General  a  letter. 
Sally  was  sweeping  the  front  gallery  and  she  saw  all  that 
happened.  When  the  man  called,  General  Westbrook  went 
out  on  the  gallery  through  one  of  the  big  windows;  he 
seemed  much  surprised  when  the  man  handed  him  the  envel- 
ope, and  asked,  '  Who  is  this  from  ?  '  But  the  man  shook 
his  head  and  smiled,  and  went  away  immediately  without 
a  word.  The  General,  after  watching  him  out  of  sight,  went 
back  into  the  library,  holding  the  letter  away  from  him  by  one 
corner,  as  if  he  were  half  afraid  of  it.  Sally  says  she  knew 
the  messenger  was  a '  conjure  man '  the  moment  she  laid  eyes 
on  him,  and  her  suspicions  seem  to  have  been  confirmed 
almost  at  once.  It  was  n't  more  than  a  minute  after  General 
Westbrook  returned  to  the  library  that  Sally  heard  him  call 
out  as  if  he  were  in  pain.  She  peeped  in,  and  what  she  saw 
seems  to  have  scared  her  pretty  bad.  The  General  was  sit- 
ting at  his  desk  with  the  'conjure  paper'  in  his  hand;  his 

[1691 


The  Silver  Blade 

face  was  the  color  of  ashes,  his  jaw  open,  his  eyes  staring; 
and  he  did  n't  pay  the  least  bit  of  attention  to  Sally.  She 
watched  him  a  moment,  dropped  her  broom,  and  went 
flying  to  notify  Mrs.  Westbrook.  That 's  all,  sir." 

"Day  is  breaking,"  said  the  Captain,  after  a  moment, 
"  and  I  want  you  to  get  an  hour  or  two  of  sleep  before  report- 
ing to  me  for  further  duty.  I  '11  have  my  hands  full  to-day. 
Clancy  can  report  off  for  you,  and  I  '11  fix  it  with  the  Chief. 
Wear  plain  clothes." 

He  left  the  window  and  advanced  into  the  room. 
"  Clancy,"  he  continued,  "  you  may  go.  Have  the  Sergeant 
detail  a  man  for  special  duty  here  to-day,  and  notify  him  that 
I  am  using  McCaleb." 

There  are  times  when  a  man's  grief  is,  to  a  limited  extent, 
its  own  antidote.  And  it  was  so  with  Doctor  Westbrook  as 
he  sat  brooding;  for  when  Mr.  Converse  dismissed  the  two 
policemen  he  noted  that  the  physician  was  still  sitting  pre- 
cisely in  the  attitude  assumed  by  him  when  he  had  first 
dropped  into  the  Morris  chair.  He  was  patently  oblivious 
to  what  was  going  on  about  him;  and  observing  this  also, 
Mr.  Converse  went  in  search  of  Merkel. 

He  found  the  Coroner  in  the  hall,  conversing  with  the 
undertaker's  man,  and  drew  him  aside. 

"  Mr.  Merkel,"  began  the  Captain,  bluntly,  "  the  moment 
has  arrived  when  you  must  let  me  run  things  alone." 

That  Merkel's  dignity  was  rufHed  and  his  official  pride 
affronted  was  quite  plain;  nevertheless,  after  a  wordy  expo- 
sition of  the  irregularity  of  the  proceeding,  the  "  responsibili- 
ties of  his  office,"  and  the  duties  incumbent  upon  him,  he 
departed.  Secretly,  he  cherished  the  idea  of  some  time 

[170] 


A  Burnt  Fragment 

overwhelming  John  Converse  with  a  brilliant  tour  de  force; 
but  the  opportunity  had  never  been  perceptible  to  his  obtuse- 
ness,  and  the  Captain,  of  course,  knew  nothing  of  the 
other's  ambition.  If  he  had,  perhaps  he  would  have  smiled. 

Mr.  Converse  returned  to  the  library  with  a  distinct 
feeling  of  satisfaction.  Apparently  the  Doctor  had  not 
stirred.  After  a  brief  contemplation  of  the  dejected  figure, 
the  detective  advanced  and  laid  his  hand  upon  one  bowed 
shoulder. 

"Come,  Doctor,"  said  he;  "I  must  have  a  little  talk 
with  you." 

The  Doctor  looked  up  dully,  uncomprehending. 

"Rouse  yourself,"  continued  Converse,  "for  there  is 
a  more  desperate  crisis  in  your  affairs  than  the  death  of 
your  father.  Do  you  hear  me?  Do  you  understand?" 
Then,  as  Doctor  Westbrook  continued  to  stare  at  him  won- 
deringly,  he  added,  "You  must  pull  yourself  together  — 
for  your  sister's  sake." 

The  final  appeal  penetrated  the  stunned  intelligence; 
on  a  sudden  the  Doctor  straightened  up,  the  light  of  under- 
standing once  more  in  his  eyes. 

"My  sister?"  he  repeated;  "Joyce?  What  do  you 
mean?  What  of  her?" 

"  Can  you  attend  to  what  I  say  now  ?  "  returned  Converse. 
He  was  now  masterful,  compelling  the  other's  attention. 
"Then  listen  to  me  before  I  ask  or  you  answer  my  ques- 
tions." He  paused  for  a  moment,  his  keen  eyes  fixed  squarely 
upon  the  physician's. 

"Doctor  Westbrook,"  he  continued,  presently,  "you 
know  whether,  in  the  death  of  Alberto  de  Sanchez,  there 
is  any  circumstance  which  may  affect  your  sister  nearly; 

[171] 


The  Silver  Blade 

you  may  not  know  that,  in  the  death  of  your  father,  the  cir- 
cumstances involve  her  quite  as  clos  — 

"Stop!" 

The  Doctor  sprang  from  his  chair;  the  emotions  beneath 
which  he  had  so  lately  been  crushed  were  suddenly  sub- 
merged and  swept  away  in  a  wave  of  anger. 

"You  will  leave  my  sister  out  of  this  wretched  affair, 
sir,"  he  commanded,  white  with  indignation. 

Converse,  however,  was  far  from  faltering  before  this 
stern,  not  to  say  menacing,  attitude;  his  own  huge  frame 
was  the  embodiment  of  resolution,  the  cold  light  of  his  eye 
the  reflection  of  an  inflexible,  constraining  personality,  in- 
tent with  a  fixed  determination ;  and  the  look  with  which  he 
met  Dr.  Westbrook's  infuriated  glance  did  more  to  calm 
the  latter  than  any  speech  could  have  done.  The  Doctor 
all  at  once  sat  down  again,  signifying  by  a  slight  gesture  that 
the  other  might  proceed. 

"Doctor,"  the  Captain  went  on  immediately,  "you  will 
do  well  if  you  try  to  curb  your  impatience,  for  at  the  very 
best  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  will  not  be  pleasant.  Per- 
haps you  will  see  it  in  the  light  of  necessity  when  I  tell  you 
I  have  taken  pains  to  secure  this  conference  against  inter- 
ruption." And  he  concluded,  grimly,  "It  is  necessary  — 
or  something  worse." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  was  the  response,  uttered  with  a  touch 
of  testiness.  "  I  hope  the  result  will  justify  your  assurance. 
I  'm  in  no  humor  to  trifle." 

"And  you  will  find  it  no  trifling  matter."  The  speaker 
paused;  concluding  with  a  deliberateness  of  manner  that 
made  the  words  vastly  portentous:  "Doctor  Westbrook, 
if  the  Coroner  and  the  District  Attorney  had  in  their 

[1721 


A  Burnt  Fragment 

possession  the  facts  —  not  theories,  mind,  but  facts  which 
can  now  be  proved, —  if  they  had  laid  before  them  all  that  I 
know,  they  would  order  your  sister  placed  under  immediate 
arrest." 

If  the  Captain's  intention  was  to  impress  the  gravity  of 
the  situation  upon  the  physician,  he  must  have  been  em- 
inently satisfied.  Doctor  Westbrook  collapsed  as  if  he  had 
received  a  powerful  physical  blow;  his  face  was  haggard 
already,  and  now  his  eyes  became  fixed  upon  his  interlocutor, 
intent,  fascinated. 

"  So,  you  see,  Doctor,"  Converse  went  on,  "  I  am  going 
outside  my  duty  in  giving  you  this  opportunity  to  clear  up 
some  particulars,  which  it  has  been  in  your  power  to  do 
since  —  well,  I  will  fix  the  time  by  the  death  of  De  Sanchez." 

After  a  silence  which  seemed  to  grow  interminable,  Doc- 
tor Westbrook  cleared  his  throat,  and  hoarsely  asked :  "  What 
do  you  wish?  Dispense  with  preliminaries;  what  do  you 
want  of  me  ?  " 

"Very  good.  I  want  you  to  summon  Miss  Westbrook 
here,  and  in  your  presence  I  shall  put  to  her  a  number  of 
questions.  Of  course  she  may  answer  them  or  not  as 
she  sees  fit;  but  you  must  understand  now  and  clearly, 
Doctor,  that  whatever  the  next  immediate  action  taken  by 
me  may  be,  it  will  depend  largely  upon  the  outcome  of  this 
interview.  If  I  am  inconsiderate  in  any  particular,  pray 
say  so,  and  I  shall  try  to  accommodate  myself  to  your  own 
and  your  sister's  feelings  in  the  matter.  Now  go;  consult 
Miss  Westbrook's  wishes,  but  please  be  expeditious.  Meet 
me  here  "  —  with  a  glance  at  his  watch  —  "  say,  in  thirty 
minutes."  And  without  another  word  or  a  look  back  he 
quitted  the  room. 

flWl 


The  Silver  Blade 

In  the  hall  he  encountered  Sam,  who,  since  the  tragedy, 
seemed  to  have  no  more  weighty  occupation  than  to  wander 
aimlessly  about  in  a  feeble  effort  to  adjust  himself  to  a  novel 
and  incomprehensible  condition.  His  face  lighted  at  sight 
of  the  Captain. 

"Sam,"  said  Mr.  Converse,  "I  should  like  to  have  a 
look  at  that  ash-hopper  now." 

"Sho',  seh!"  exclaimed  the  darkey  in  the  lowest  note  of 
his  mellow  voice;  "you  isn't  really  in  ea'nest  about  dem 
ashes,  is  you  ?  " 

Mr.  Converse  was  much  in  earnest. 

"Well,  seh,"  and  Sam  scratched  his  bald  spot  in  per- 
plexity, "you  all  p'leece  officehs  is  sho'  a  mighty  queer  lot." 
Then,  with  a  sudden  assumption  of  his  stateliest  manner, 
"  Howsomeveh,  seh,  if  you  '11  please  to  follow  me,  I  '11  be 
'bleeged  to  show  you  de  ash-hopper." 

The  ashes  were  of  the  soft,  fluffy  white  kind  that  remain 
after  a  complete  combustion  of  wood;  in  this  case  kept 
clear  of  other  refuse,  and  sheltered  from  the  weather,  in 
anticipation  of  future  lye. 

"  Have  the  ashes  from  the  kitchen  been  dumped  here  since 
you  cleaned  the  library  grate  last  ?  "  Converse  inquired. 

"Yes,  seh;  twicet." 

"Very  good,  Sam.     You  may  go  back  to  the  house." 

Once  alone,  Converse  picked  up  a  stick  and  began 
carefully  to  rake  off  the  top  layer  of  ashes,  penetrating  into 
the  heap  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  inch  at  a  time.  He 
repeated  this  operation  no  more  than  four  or  five  times, 
when  he  stopped,  and  with  his  fingers  extracted  a  conspicu- 
ous bit  of  black  —  unmistakably  the  ash  of  incinerated 
paper.  It  was  too  small  to  possess  any  advantage  in  itself; 

[174] 


A  Burnt  Fragment 

but  it  was  the  counterpart  of  many  minute  particles  such  as 
he  had  picked  with  the  point  of  his  pencil  from  between  the 
bricks  of  the  library  fireplace. 

After  a  brief  examination  he  cast  the  flake  of  ash  aside, 
and  proceeded  more  carefully  to  rake  over  the  pile. 

"  If  there  is  only  a  larger  piece,  only  one  that  will  show 
the  writing,"  the  delver  muttered  to  himself,  "  if  there  is  only 
one  that  has  not  been  entirely  burnt,  my  search  will  not  have 
been  in  vain.  But  these  flakes  are  all  too  small  and  fragile. 
.  .  .  No  such  luck.  .  .  .  Ah-h-h!" 

The  final  ejaculation  was  merely  a  breath,  but  pregnant 
with  satisfaction.  The  point  of  the  stick  had  revealed  a 
small  piece  of  paper,  one  edge  charred,  but  containing  a 
number  of  written  words  —  one  a  name  which  sent  a  thrill 
through  the  searcher. 

The  fragment  had  once  been  the  lower  left-hand  corner 
of  a  sheet  of  the  commonest  kind  of  note-paper,  and  inside 
the  charred  edge  could  be  read  the  commencement  of  two 
lines  —  evidently  the  last  two  —  and  a  portion  of  the  signa- 
ture, all  written  in  Spanish,  and  by  a  feminine  hand: 

Eso  es 

I  Acabo  V  ?    No 
Paquita  y 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Converse  —  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  perhaps, —  had  reason  to  bless  certain  years  spent  with 
Abram  Follett  in  Latin  America;  for  to  his  understanding, 
and  without  any  great  knowledge  of  the  Spanish  language, 
the  words  signified : 

It  is  ...  (or,  is  not?} 
Are  you  ready  ?    No  .  .  . 
Paquita  and  .  .  . 

[175] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Was  this  a  portion  of  the  "  conjure  paper "  ?    Was  this 
the  message  that  had  hoodooed  the  unfortunate  General  - 
containing,  beyond  the  scope  of  the  physician's  skill,  a  potent 
cause  for  mental  distress  ?    Was  it  the  herald  of  his  wretched 
end? 

And  Paquita  —  again  the  pretty  feminine  praenomen ! 
Disclosing  no  identity,  it  flaunted  itself  at  every  stage  of  the 
investigation  with  a  vagueness  of  allusion  tantalizing  and 
vexing  to  an  extreme;  ever  presenting  to  the  mind's  eye 
no  more  than  a  faint,  nebulous  image  of  maiden  loveliness, 
at  once  procacious  and  ingenuous.  "  Paquita  and  - 
whom?  What  other  name  had  completed  the  signature  to 
the  destroyed  missive  ? 

Mr.  Converse  produced  the  familiar  and  well-worn 
pocket-book;  and  therein,  with  extraordinary  care,  he  de- 
posited the  precious  fragment  of  paper. 

Further  search  disclosed  nothing  more  of  value,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  he  went  back  to  the  house  to  confront  Doctor 
Westbrook  and  Joyce. 


[176] 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  DOOR  IS    OPENED 

AS  Mr.  Converse  entered  the  library  he  stopped 
short  almost  on  the  threshold,  conscious  of  a  sudden 
shock.  Could  that  nonchalant,  self-possessed  girl  be 
the  innocent  — 

Before  the  thought  was  complete  his  feelings  took  a  pen- 
dulum sweep  backward:  from  extreme  surprise  and  acute 
disappointment  that  his  sympathies  had  been  wasted,  to 
admiration  and  pity,  and  a  satisfying  conviction  that,  after 
all,  his  sympathies  were  greatly  needed.  He  bent  upon  her 
a  keener,  more  discerning  look,  and  all  at  once  comprehended 
that  a  wealth  of  profound  and  conflicting  emotions  were 
possible  behind  the  marble  exterior  presented  to  him. 

Joyce  cast  at  him  a  look  of  such  dumb  terror  that  for 
once  he  was  at  a  complete  loss  how  to  proceed.  He  realized 
the  many  and  varied  potentialities  for  evil  with  which  her 
imagination  must  have  invested  him  —  what  a  terrible  mon- 
ster he  must  appear  to  her  —  and  felt  keenly  the  disadvan- 
tage of  his  vocal  infirmity,  anticipating  that  it  would  further 
prejudice  him  in  her  estimation.  Yet  he  must  speak,  and 
she  must  be  made  to  hear  him. 

With  the  revulsion  of  feeling  he  advanced  into  the  room. 
And  as  he  did  so  he  perceived  a  tremor  pass  over  the  slight 
frame;  she  groped  an  instant,  blindly,  with  her  left  hand 
until  it  found  and  interlocked  with  her  brother's. 

The  Doctor  was  seated  in  the  Morris  chair,  while  his  sister 
[1771 


The  Silver  Blade 

stood  close  by  his  right  side.  Now  that  she  required  its 
support,  his  stronger  masculine  nature  had  asserted  itself, 
and,  save  for  the  haggard  visage,  Doctor  Westbrook  was  quite 
his  natural  self  again.  Whatever  had  passed  between  them 
during  the  last  half-hour,  they  had  undoubtedly  arrived  at 
an  agreement  to  brave  out  the  present  interview  together. 

She  was  robed  in  a  simple  morning-gown  of  a  dead  and 
dull  black.  The  hint  of  fragrance,  which  seemed  an  aura 
of  her  presence,  had  apparently  lost  its  interest  for  Mr.  Con- 
verse. 

"  Miss  Westbrook,"  he  began,  and  beheld  his  fears  justi- 
fied by  another  shudder  at  the  first  sound  of  his  sibilant  voice. 
But  he  went  on  as  evenly  and  as  gently  as  his  vocal  defect 
would  permit.  "Miss  Westbrook,  I  have  asked  for  this 
interview  out  of  a  consideration  for  you  and  your  family, 
which  the  Doctor  understands,  I  believe,  and  which  you  will 
understand  also,  no  doubt  before  we  are  through.  As  a 
detective  I  am  often  called  upon  to  do  things  that  are  dis- 
tasteful to  myself,  and  this  is  not  the  least  disagreeable  task 
I  have  ever  found  before  me.  But  I  can't  shirk  a  plain  duty, 
Miss  Westbrook;  so  if  I  attempt  to  perform  that  plain  duty 
in  a  manner  that  will  be  the  least  distressing  to  yourself,  may 
I  count  upon  your  cooperation  and  approval  ?  " 

Without  altering  her  attitude,  or  the  slightest  change  in 
her  pale  countenance,  she  slowly  and  silently  inclined  her 
head  the  merest  trifle  in  acquiescence. 

"Very  good,  Miss  Westbrook;  thank  you.  You  make 
it  lighter  for  all  of  us.  Now,  may  I  suggest  that  you  be 
seated  ?  At  best  we  shall  be  engaged  for  some  time." 

Her  left  hand  was  still  clasped  in  her  brother's;  but 
further  than  to  indicate  with  her  free  hand  a  chair  in  which 

[178] 


A  Door  is  Opened 

Mr.  Converse  was  at  liberty  to  seat  himself  if  he  chose,  she 
made  no  response.  He  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity 
to  the  extent  of  resting  one  knee  on  the  chair-seat  and  his 
elbows  on  the  back  —  the  straight-backed  chair  which  had 
stood  by  the  veranda  window. 

"  Now  then,  Miss  Westbrook,  let  us  go  back  to  the  even- 
ing of  November  fourth,"  Converse  proceeded.  He  found 
no  encouragement  in  her  frozen  attitude;  but  his  own 
manner  could  have  been  no  more  cheerful,  yet  tempered  by 
a  sense  of  his  surroundings  and  the  occasion,  nor  have  be- 
trayed more  of  an  easy  confidence,  had  he  known  that  the 
locked  lips  were  to  open,  and  by  a  word  exorcise  the  spell  of 
mystery  which  held  them  all.  "  During  the  evening  of  No- 
vember fourth  —  Wednesday  —  were  you  not  in  the  Nettle- 
ton  Building  ?  " 

So  promptly  that  it  would  have  staggered  a  man  less  used 
to  surprises,  came  the  reply: 

"I  refuse  to  answer." 

Even  the  Captain  was  taken  aback,  although  it  was  not 
in  his  immobile  features  to  yield  a  hint  of  the  fact.  As  he 
put  the  question,  he  noted  a  convulsive  tightening  of  the  hand 
that  still  clasped  the  Doctor's;  but  the  soft  eyes  did  not 
waver  nor  the  beautiful  face  alter  its  expression.  The  words 
were  faintly  spoken;  nevertheless  they  were  vibrant  with  a 
determined  and  set  purpose,  and  Converse  was  overwhelmed 
with  that  sense  of  helpless  impatience  which  is  apt  to  assail 
one  in  the  face  of  mistaken  obstinacy. 

"This  is  very  unfortunate,"  he  observed  with  deepened 
gravity.  "  Miss  Westbrook,  I  would  not  presume  to  advise 
you,  but  you  are  wrong,  wrong  —  and  how  can  I  convince 
you  ?  "  He  regarded  the  still  figure,  as  unresponsive  as  a 

f  1791 


The  Silver  Blade 

waxen  image.  No  assistance  there.  He  glanced  at  Doctor 
Westbrook,  only  to  meet  another  pair  of  eyes  showing  an 
unalterable  purpose. 

"  This  conversation  might  as  well  end  here  and  now,"  he 
at  length  concluded,  addressing  the  Doctor;  and  added  with 
pointed  deliberation,  "You  know  what  that  means." 

Doctor  Westbrook  glanced  at  the  silent,  motionless  figure 
beside  him,  and  moved  uneasily.  Was  is  possible  that  the 
uncompromising  attitude  of  this  mere  girl,  and  it  alone, 
was  responsible  for  the  deadlock  ?  To  a  certain  extent  she 
was  herself  a  mystery,  an  enigma,  and  what  with  her  immo- 
bility and  silence,  her  dimness  of  outline  in  the  darkened 
library,  she  was  as  intangible  and  inscrutable  as  Paquita. 
Out  of  the  shadow  that  marked  where  she  stood  the  violet 
eyes  glowed  like  two  stars,  the  beautiful  features,  surrounded 
by  their  halo  of  ebon  hair,  now  only  a  denser  shadow,  loomed 
as  pallid  as  death,  and  the  Captain  was  irritatingly  aware  of 
his  inability  so  far  to  grasp  at  anything  definite  by  which  to 
frame  his  speech.  At  any  rate,  whether  or  no  she  was  the 
controlling  spirit,  it  would  seem  the  Doctor  endeavored  to 
temporize. 

"Mr.  Converse,"  he  began  presently,  "you  have  called 
our  attention  to  the  fact  that  you  are  simply  performing  a 
duty,  —  that  you  are  doing  so  with  a  delicate  consideration 
for  our  feelings  which  perhaps  we  don't  deserve, —  but  I 
assure  you,  sir,  we  do  appreciate  your  tact  and  thoughtful- 
ness,  and  it  must  appear  that  we  are  making  a  poor  return 
for  such  kindness.  But  consider  this:  there  are  possible 
issues  to  this  crisis  that  may  prove  disastrous  to  persons 
entirely  unblameworthy.  Can  you  not  imagine  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  situation  in  which  we  should  be  compelled 

[180] 


JOYCE  WAS  HERSELF  A  MYSTERY,  AX  KMCMA,  AS  INSCRUTABLE  AS  "  PAQUITA. 


A  Door  is  Opened 

to  move  with  the  utmost  caution,  wherein  we  must  rely 
solely  upon  our  own  judgment?  Good  God!  "  he  suddenly 
exploded,  "  think  of  Joyce  —  my  sister  —  think  of  a  fair 
young  girl  being  entangled  in  anything  so  damnable!" 

Converse  cast  a  covert  glance  at  the  girl,  to  note  the  effect 
of  this  outburst;  but  her  manner  revealed  not  the  slightest 
alteration.  It  was  plain  that  such  determination  would 
betray  nothing  by  either  a  word  or  sign.  But  why  ?  Specu- 
lation upon  this  question  led  swiftly  and  surely  to  the  darkest 
possibilities  —  nay,  probabilities  —  that  might  elucidate 
her  conduct. 

He  made  another  effort. 

"  If  you  would  but  dismiss  the  idea  that  I  am  an  enemy —  " 

"Ah,"  interrupted  the  Doctor,  quickly;  "I  understand 
your  impersonal  attitude  exactly,  Mr.  Converse.  You  are 
not  an  enemy.  If  the  way  were  clear  before  you  to  do  so, 
I  think  we  could  count  on  you  as  a  trustworthy  friend  to 
extricate  us  from  our  difficulties.  On  the  other  hand  —  well, 
to  be  brief,  it  is  this  impersonal  attitude  which  may  prove 
inimical  to  us.  I  —  I  —  pardon  me,  I  can't  be  more  ex- 
plicit." 

"  I  might  construe  such  a  statement  to  mean  that,  were  I 
to  perform  my  duty  in  the  light  of  actual  facts,  the  operation 
would  be  —  well,  disagreeable  to  you." 

The  response  was  a  lifting  of  the  brows  and  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  which  said  quite  plainly  —  perhaps  more  plainly 
than  the  Doctor  intended,  —  "I  cannot  prevent  your  placing 
any  construction  upon  my  words  you  may  see  fit." 

"If  you  will  permit  the  observation,  Doctor,"  Converse 
remarked,  dryly,  "your  words  are  contradictory  to  come 
from  a  man  entirely  innocent." 

[1811 


The  Silver  Blade 

A  flash  from  the  physician's  eyes  gave  warning  of  an 
angry  rejoinder;  but  another  unconscious  movement  of  the 
hand  which  held  his  so  tightly  brought  his  sister  sharply 
to  mind,  it  would  seem,  and  the  words,  when  uttered,  be- 
trayed a  note  of  helplessness. 

"  My  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  don't  I  know  it  ?  But  what 
do  mere  denials  amount  to  in  the  face  of  this  suspicion  ?  " 

"Yet  there  is  something  within  your  knowledge,  and 
arising  out  of  these  crimes,  which  you  unequivocally  refuse 
to  tell  me." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  Mr.  Converse." 

"  Not  even  in  the  face  of  evidence  seriously  compromising 
Miss  Westbrook  ?  " 

Of  a  sudden  the  alert  Captain  became  aware  of  a  change 
in  the  statue-like  girl.  It  was  slight,  indefinable  —  tele- 
pathic rather  than  openly  perceptible,  —  but  he  fancied  the 
fixed  look  with  which  she  regarded  him  assumed  an  added 
intentness  at  this  stage.  He  even  felt  for  one  brief  instant 
that  she  meant  to  speak;  but  if  such  had  been  her  purpose, 
a  second  thought  prevailed,  and  she  remained  motionless  and 
silent.  He  turned  abruptly  to  her. 

"Miss  Westbrook,"  said  he,  "is  it  of  any  use  for  me  to 
make  another  appeal  to  you  ?  " 

Although  he  waited  for  an  answer,  she  made  no  sign  that 
would  indicate  she  had  heard.  With  an  air  of  finality,  he 
presently  pushed  back  the  chair  and  stood  upright. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "after  the  course  this  talk  has  taken 
there  remains  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do.  I  regret  that  you 
feel  you  would  be  conferring  a  favor  instead  of  accepting  an 
opportunity  —  which  happens  to  be  the  situation;  but  I  —  " 

Doctor  Westbrook  raised  a  protesting  hand. 
[182] 


A  Door  is  Opened 

"Just  a  moment,"  he  interposed  with  anxious  haste. 
"You  assert  that  my  sister's  situation  is  critical."  Again 
the  Captain  had  the  feeling  that  Miss  Westbrook's  impas- 
sivity cloaked  a  strained  attention ;  but,  as  before,  if  the  emo- 
tion existed,  her  frozen  attitude  yielded  no  token  of  it.  Was 
she  anxious  for  an  expression  of  his  views  upon  this  point  ? 
"Suppose,"  the  Doctor  continued,  "the  least  admission  on 
our  part  would  lead  to  complications  which  would  hopelessly 
involve  her,  is  it  our  place  to  speak?  If  the  situation  is 
such  that  a  full  explanation  cannot  be  given,  —  tell  me,  is 
not  our  position  onerous  —  unbearable  ?  ...  Now  then, 
Mr.  Converse,  be  candid,"  he  concluded,  with  an  abrupt, 
confidential  dropping  of  his  voice,  "is  it  not  the  truth  that 
you  would  not  have  asked  her  if  she  was  present  that  evening, 
if  you  could  prove  that  she  was?  And  tell  me,  what  has 
all  this  to  do  with  last  night's  crime  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Converse  felt  a  tide  of  anger  rising  within 
him ;  he  all  at  once  realized  that,  as  an  officer  of  the  law  — 
as  a  mere  machine  operating  in  a  fixed  routine  —  he  had 
made  a  mistake ;  he  had  allowed  a  generous  impulse  to  inter- 
pose and  thwart  an  end  of  great  importance ;  and  now,  when 
it  was  too  late,  he  must  make  an  effort  to  remedy  his  error. 
Without  the  least  warning,  he  fastened  his  compelling,  prob- 
ing regard  full  upon  Joyce.  It  was  a  look  that  had  made 
hardened  criminals  tremble,  and  at  last  the  girl's  impas- 
siveness  gave  way.  With  an  involuntary  clutching  of  the 
clasped  hand  she  shrank  closer  to  her  brother.  For  a 
moment  she  returned  the  look ;  then  her  glance  wavered  — 
fell;  the  sooty  lashes  swept  her  cheeks,  where  two  spots  of 
color  began  slowly  to  appear,  and  the  statue  was  quickened 
into  life. 

[183] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"And  would  you  really  care  to  know,  Miss  Westbrook, 
what  I  think  of  it  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  significant  quietness 
that  startled  her  into  speech. 

"  Yes  —  I  —  I  —  "  she  faltered  and  stopped.  She  looked 
wildly  from  the  Doctor  to  the  terrible  figure  confronting  her; 
then  with  a  mighty  effort  she  regained  control  of  herself,  and 
concluded  in  a  voice  firmer,  but  very  low,  "  It  is  of  no  interest 
to  me." 

Mr.  Converse  acknowledged  the  reply  with  a  bow  of 
exaggerated  deference. 

"  You  overlook  Mr.  Clay  Fairchild,"  he  remarked,  dryly. 

Another  tightening  of  the  clasped  hands,  and  another  tre- 
mor through  the  girl's  slight  frame,  were  the  sole  responses  to 
this  final  chance  shot,  until  Doctor  Westbrook's  voice  broke  in. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  have  not,"  said  he.  "  But  I  was  n't 
aware  that  he  was  under  consideration." 

"Perhaps  not,"  was  the  crisp  retort,  "openly.  He  is 
an  important  factor,  however."  His  glance  swerved  to 
Joyce  with  a  light  that  asked  quite  plainly,  "  Is  he  not  ?  " 

But  only  the  Doctor  replied.  "Indeed?"  with  ingenu- 
ous surprise.  "But  he  seems  quite  effectually  to  have 
effaced  himself." 

Converse  shot  another  glance  at  Joyce. 

"  Well,  as  for  that,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  I  have  reason  to 
believe  that  I  might  have  laid  hands  upon  him,  if  I  had  been 
in  this  neighborhood  last  night  between  —  h-m-m-m  —  be- 
tween ten  and  twelve  o'clock."  If  he  expected  this  avowal 
of  what  he  imagined  the  circumstances  to  be  to  make  any 
impression  upon  the  girl  he  was  disappointed;  for  she  was 
again  the  frozen  image,  not  to  be  swayed  by  any  influence 
under  his  control. 

[184] 


A  Door  is  Opened 

But  not  so  the  Doctor.  He  looked  at  the  detective,  with 
knitted  brow,  for  a  moment;  then,  after  a  hasty  side-glance 
at  his  sister,  "I  see,"  he  said;  "I  am  merely  a  peg  upon 
which  to  hang  references  to  things  of  which  I  am  entirely 
ignorant.  Come,  Mr.  Converse,  you  expect  frankness  from 
us;  be  open  yourself." 

The  Captain  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "My  attempt  at 
frankness  met  with  rather  a  cool  reception"  -  with  some 
sarcasm  — "  but  I  will  adopt  your  suggestion,  and  have 
done.  .  .  .  Miss  Westbrook,  at  what  time  last  night  did 
you  leave  Mrs.  Farquier's  ?  "  The  abruptness  of  the  address 
startled  her  again  momentarily;  but  somewhat  to  Mr.  Con- 
verse's surprise,  she  answered  almost  at  once. 

Her  recital  agreed  in  all  essentials  with  what  Mr.  Con- 
verse already  knew  of  her  movements.  She  had  heard  the 
shots,  but  had  been  unable  to  locate  them;  and  it  was  but  a 
minute  or  two  thereafter  that  she  had  come  upon  her  father's 
stark  body  in  the  library. 

At  this  juncture  a  knock  sounded  upon  the  library  door. 

"Allow  me,"  the  Captain  interposed,  quickly,  address- 
ing the  Doctor;  "  I  think  it  is  one  of  my  men." 

He  opened  the  door,  disclosing  McCaleb,  who  appeared 
much  less  ornate  in  the  more  sober  garments  of  the  ordinary 
citizen. 

"Wait  just  outside  the  door  until  I  call  you,  Mac,"  said 
Converse,  in  an  aside  clearly  audible  to  the  Doctor  and 
Joyce;  "  I  think  I  shall  need  you  in  a  minute."  He  uncere- 
moniously closed  the  door  in  the  young  man's  face. 

"Now  then,  Miss  Westbrook,"  he  resumed,  turning  again 
to  her,  "  will  you  tell  me  what  you  were  doing  on  the  premises 
—  in  the  yard  —  between  ten  and  twelve  o'clock  at  night  ?  " 

[185] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"See  here,  Mr.  Converse,"  the  Doctor  broke  in,  rather 
sharply ;  "  I  don't  know  what  this  is  all  about,  but  I  protest 
against  the  personal  nature  of  this  question.  My  sister  is 
neither  on  the  witness-stand  nor  accused  — 

With  a  single  imperative  gesture,  the  speaker  was  silenced. 

"  Tell  me,  Miss  Westbrook,  were  you  alone  ?  " 

The  lovely,  subdued  eyes  flashed  forth  a  startled  look; 
but  Joyce  made  no  reply. 

"Miss  Westbrook,  I  will  go  further  in  offering  you  this 
opportunity:  I  will  say  that  I  know  you  were  not  alone. 
Come,  now,  who  was  with  you  ?  " 

Still  silence.  The  mention  of  Fairchild's  name  had  pro- 
duced no  effect ;  it  might  be  well  to  try  another. 

"Was  it  Mr.  Lynden?" 

The  girl  responded  precisely  as  she  had  to  the  first  ques- 
tion, the  same  words  uttered  in  the  same  tone: 

"I  refuse  to  answer." 

Another  shrug  of  the  shoulders  signalized  the  end  of  Mr. 
Converse's  forbearance.  He  strode  hastily  to  the  door,  but 
turned  and  paused  with  his  hand  upon  the  handle. 

Was  it  a  stifled  cry  that  had  reached  his  ears  ?  The  girl 
was  now  standing  with  the  back  of  her  free  hand  pressed 
tightly  to  her  lips,  and  in  her  eyes  was  a  look  of  despair  that 
smote  him  to  the  heart.  Great  heavens,  what  did  she 
mean  ?  Was  man  ever  confronted  by  such  perverseness,  or 
beset  by  a  more  irritating  perplexity !  Why  did  she  not  speak  ? 

"  I  make  one  more  appeal  to  you,"  he  said,  after  regard- 
ing her  a  moment.  "Do  not  misconstrue  this.  If  you  do 
not  speak,  my  alternative  is  to  arrest  you.  Do  you  compre- 
hend that  ?  When  I  open  this  door,  it  will  be  to  introduce 
an  officer  who  will  become  your  custodian.  WTill  you  not 

[186] 


A  Door  is  Opened 

believe  that  my  motives  in  thus  appealing  to  you  are  prompted 
solely  by  a  desire  to  spare  you  the  distress  that  will  be  in- 
flicted if  you  do  not  open  your  lips  ?  Consider  before  you 
answer;  will  you  give  me  your  confidence?  Shall  the  door 
remain  closed  —  or  shall  I  open  it  ?  " 

For  one  brief  moment  Joyce  had  all  the  appearance  of 
some  hunted  thing  hopelessly  cornered.  She  looked  wildly 
from  the  officer  to  her  brother,  who  sat  with  set  and  rigid 
features,  and  back  to  the  officer  again.  All  at  once,  it  seemed, 
her  resolution  was  made;  or,  if  she  had  hesitated,  strength 
was  given  her  to  maintain  her  purpose.  Her  agitation 
vanished,  and  she  returned  Mr.  Converse's  look  fearlessly 
and  half  defiantly. 

"I  have  nothing  to  confide,"  was  the  response,  uttered 
with  firmness  and  the  quiet  of  a  determination  not  to  be 
swayed. 

With  a  bow,  Converse  threw  open  the  door. 

"Come  in,  McCaleb,"  he  said,  his  manner  now  brisk 
and  business-like;  then,  turning  to  the  Doctor:  "This  man 
is  an  officer  who,  for  the  present,  will  be  responsible  for  Miss 
Westbrook's  movements.  Now  then,  Doctor,  hear  my  final 
word.  I  have  made  one  mistake  in  allowing  consideration 
for  your  sister  —  young  and  inexperienced  as  she  is  —  to 
come  between  me  and  my  duty.  I  am  going  to  assume  the 
risk  again  by  offering  you  another  opportunity.  I  see  that 
you  feel  the  matter  keenly,  but  this  issue  of  our  conference 
is  the  fault  of  you  two.  Still,  it  is  terrible  thus  to  thrust  the 
stigma  of  such  a  crime  upon  a  mere  girl  —  little  short  of  the 
crime  itself,  —  and  in  the  hope  that  I  can  soon  clear  up  this 
fog  of  mystery,  I  am  going  to  be  guilty  of  a  dereliction.  Give 
me  your  word  that  Miss  Westbrook  will  neither  attempt  to 

[187] 


The  Silver  Blade 

leave  the  house  nor  communicate  with  anybody  outside, 
without  first  reporting  to  McCaleb,  and  for  the    present 
—  until  it  becomes  unavoidable  to  act  otherwise  —  she  may 
remain  here." 

With  a  sudden  movement,  Doctor  Westbrook  released 
Joyce's  hand,  and  pressed  his  own  hand  to  his  brow. 

"  Good  God ! "  he  groaned,  "  this  is  intolerable.     Joyce  — 
dear  sister  —  tell  — 

But  he  got  no  further.  The  final  word  acted  like  the 
touch  that  releases  a  taut  spring,  and  she  fairly  precipitated 
herself  upon  him,  sending  one  look  of  such  utter  terror  and 
desperation  at  Mr.  Converse  that  his  perplexity  deepened 
into  blank  amazement,  and  at  the  same  time  she  clapped  a 
hand  over  her  brother's  mouth. 

"You  swore  you  would  not,"  she  whispered,  almost 
fiercely.  "Mobley,  you  swore.  If  they  were  to  tear  me 
limb  from  limb  before  your  eyes  I  would  not  consent  to  have 
you  tell." 

The  Doctor's  head  dropped,  and  with  a  gentle  movement 
he  took  the  small  hand  from  out  his  beard,  kissed  it  tenderly, 
and  sat  abstractedly  caressing  it. 

Joyce's  lovely  countenance  grew  beatific  in  its  exultation. 

"Converse,"  despairingly,  "I  give  you  my  word." 

"  Unless  you  or  the  young  lady  cause  it  to  be  otherwise," 
said  the  Captain,  softly,  "the  matter  may  remain  private 
among  us  four  —  unless,  of  course,"  he  supplemented,  "  the 
next  day  or  two  fails  to  reveal  something  substantial  to  lay 
before  the  District  Attorney.  I  do  not  extend  any  false  hopes. 
The  seriousness  of  Miss  Westbrook's  position  can  scarcely 
be  magnified.  .  .  .  McCaleb,  you  have  heard;  act  accord- 
ingly until  you  receive  other  instructions." 

[188] 


A  Door  is  Opened 

"  May  my  sister  retire  ?  "  asked  Doctor  Westbrook. 

"Certainly.  Her  movements  are  not  to  be  restricted  or 
spied  upon,  or  interfered  with  in  any  manner  or  degree  — 
within  the  house,  of  course.  You  understand  this,  Mac." 

The  young  man  nodded.  His  manner  was  extremely 
sober;  it  was  quite  patent  that  he  was  not  insusceptible  to 
the  beauty  of  his  charge. 

Joyce  started  slowly  toward  the  door,  close  by  which 
McCaleb  yet  stood.  She  was  probably  half-way  between 
the  group  of  two  —  her  brother,  old  and  haggard  in  the  chair, 
the  other  as  menacing  and  inexorable  as  Fate, —  and  the 
younger  man  who  looked  at  her  with  frank  pity,  when  she 
paused  and  turned  to  her  brother.  There  was  a  faint  smile 
upon  her  lips;  her  eyes  were  soft,  and  it  appeared  as  if  she 
were  about  to  speak.  But  before  any  one  of  the  three  could 
offer  her  the  least  assistance,  she  sank  quietly  to  the  floor, 
unconscious. 


[189] 


BOOK  II. 
CHARLOTTE  FAIRCHILD 


She  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 

Of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies, 
And  all  that 's  best  of  dark  and  bright 

Meets  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes, 
Thus  mellowed  to  that  tender  light 

Which  heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies. 
One  shade  the  more,  one  ray  the  less, 

Had  half  impaired  the  nameless  grace 
Which  waves  in  every  raven  tress 

Or  softly  lightens  o'er  her  face, 
Where  thoughts  serenely  sweet  express 

How  pure,  how  dear  their  dwelling-place. 
And  on  that  cheek  and  o'er  that  brow 

So  soft,  so  calm,  yet  eloquent, 
The  smiles  that  win,  the  tints  that  glow, 

But  tell  of  days  in  goodness  spent, — 
A  mind  at  peace  with  all  below, 

A  heart  whose  love  is  innocent. 

—  BYRON. 

This  is  as  strange  a  maze  as  e'er  men  trod; 

.    some  oracle 
Must  rectify  our  knowledge. 

—  THE  TEMPEST. 


CHAPTER  I 

MISS  CHARLOTTE  WAITS  IN  THE  HALL 

SOMEWHAT  more  than  a  score  of  years  before  the 
opening  of  this  story,  Richard  Fairchild,  after  quietly 
contemplating  the  parcelling  of  his  once  fair  estate 
among  a  horde  of  clamoring,  quarrelling  creditors,  chief  of 
whom  was  his  erstwhile  overseer,  William  Slade,  the  elder, — 
strolled  leisurely  into  the  country,  as  quietly  placed  a  pistol 
to  his  head  and  blew  out  his  brains.     He  did  not  leave 
behind  property   of  sufficient  value  to  defray  his  modest 
burial  expenses. 

This  succession  of  disasters  at  one  stroke  transformed 
the  wife  from  a  famous  and  envied  beauty  into  a  broken 
invalid,  petulant,  querulous,  and  exacting,  living  only  in  the 
memory  of  her  days  of  happiness,  and  made  of  her  daughter 
Charlotte  a  strangely  quiet  and  sedate  woman,  bound  to 
her  helpless  mother's  side  as  with  hoops  of  steel.  Clay  was 
then  but  a  babe. 

The  tiny  cottage  that  received  the  invalid  mother,  the 
dark-eyed  daughter,  and  the  infant  son  was  part  of  a  slender 
legacy  bequeathed  Charlotte  by  a  maiden  aunt;  and  with 
the  passing  years  the  old  homestead  became  merely  a  mel- 
ancholy ruin,  half  hidden  by  weeds  and  underbrush,  infested 
by  owls  and  bats,  and  an  occasion  for  wonder  at  the  probable 
motives  which  prompted  the  present  Slade  so  to  neglect  it. 
Nothing  stirred  now  beneath  the  crumbling  roof-tree  but 
rats  and  mice  —  and  shadows. 

[193] 


The  Silver  Blade 

If  those  persons  who  marvelled  at  Slade's  parsimony  or 
queer  ideas  of  economy  could  have  been  present  at  a  scene 
which  occurred  at  the  cottage  on  the  evening  of  the  night 
General  Westbrook  was  assassinated,  they  might  have  found 
an  answer  to  their  mental  queries.  Yet  we  may  only  know 
what  Miss  Charlotte  herself  saw  and  heard. 

To  begin  with,  she  was  startled  by  a  sound  of  unfamiliar 
footsteps  on  the  front  porch,  an  uncertain  movement  to- 
ward the  door,  and  finally  by  a  knocking  upon  the  door 
itself. 

She  took  up  a  lamp  and  advanced  down  the  narrow  hall 
to  the  small  reception-hall.  Without  any  hesitation  she 
unlocked  the  door  and  opened  it  wide  at  once ;  and  it  is  prob- 
able that  no  apparition  of  any  person,  dead  or  living,  could 
have  affected  her  so  profoundly  as  what  she  then  beheld  in 
the  light  of  the  lamp.  She  was  so  astonished  at  sight  of  the 
crusty  abstracter  that  she  stood  quite  speechless.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  noteworthy  in  estimating  Mr.  Slade's  char- 
acter that  he  snatched  off  his  hat  and  ducked  his  head,  much 
as  he  might  have  done  in  the  old  days  when  he  stepped 
aside  from  the  road  to  allow  the  family  coach  to  roll  by. 
Plainly,  he  was  uneasy,  out  of  his  element,  and  the  shallow, 
jet-like  eyes  at  once  became  shifty  before  the  unfathomable 
ones  which  regarded  him  with  such  frank  surprise  and  dis- 
pleasure. 

But  her  expression  rapidly  altered:    her  eyes  darkened, 
their  light  hardened  —  if  the  expression  is  permissible  — 
and  her  lips  compressed;  never  before  had  a  Slade  stood  in 
the  doorway  of  the  cottage.     The  brightly  glowing  flame  of 
hospitality  was  extinguished  before  this  unexpected  blast. 

This  silence  was  something  more  than  Slade  could  endure. 
[104] 


Miss  Charlotte  Waits  in  the  Hall 

Nervously,  he  emitted  a    dry,  deprecatory  cough    behind 
his  knuckly  fingers. 

"  Miss  Charlotte,  is  it  not  ?  "  he  finally  ventured. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  was  the  blunt  reply. 

Propitiation  was  difficult  for  Slade,  especially  in  the  face 
of  such  obvious,  uncompromising  antipathy.  His  nervous- 
ness measurably  increased,  and  he  replied,  rather  incohe- 
rently 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Charlotte,  I  know  it  seems  strange 
—  why  I  am  here,  I  mean;  but  I  must  see  —  dear  me,  I 
can't  explain.  .  .  .  Can't  you  hold  the  light  a  little  more 
out  of  my  eyes  ?  Oh,  very  well.  .  .  .  Your  mother  —  Mrs. 
Fairchild  —  I  must  see  her  on  business  —  very  important, 
Miss  Charlotte." 

Her  amazement  only  deepened. 

"Business  with  mamma!"  she  cried,  incredulously. 
"  Why ,  that  is  ridiculous  —  absurd ;  mamma  has  transacted 
no  business  for  years.  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  " 

He  seemed  to  be  painfully  aware  of  his  awkward,  ungainly, 
and  untidy  appearance,  and  of  the  harshness  of  his  voice ;  he 
was  overcome  by  a  sense  that  this  woman,  who  looked  him 
through  and  through  as  if  he  were  transparent,  would  regard 
any  misfortune  that  might  befall  him  with  precisely  the 
same  expression.  He  made  a  strenuous  effort  at  composure, 
with  the  result  that  his  naturally  sour  and  churlish  disposition 
was  given  an  opportunity  to  assert  itself. 

"My  business  goes  behind  those  years,"  he  said;  "and 
if  you  please,  it  is  none  of  yours." 

"  Indeed  ? "  The  rising  inflection  soared  to  glacial 
heights.  "If  you  will  excuse  me  I  will  close  the  door. 
When  my  brother  returns  — 

[19*3 


The  Silver  Blade 

A  sudden  look  of  cunning  in  the  little  jet  eyes  checked  her. 

"Hear  me  a  moment,"  he  presently  said.  "My  errand 
affects  — "  He  paused  briefly  and  looked  at  her  with  a 
slightly  different  expression,  as  if  determining  how  far  to 
trust  her;  but  he  uttered  no  confidence.  "Come,  Miss," 
he  at  last  finished,  "  if  you  don't  admit  me  you  —  your 
mother  —  your  brother  —  your  brother,  eh  ?  —  will  suffer 
for  it." 

Still  inflexibly  barring  the  entrance :  "  Do  you  mean  that 
your  errand  concerns  Clay  ?  "  she  asked.  Unconsciously, 
a  note  of  anxiety  had  crept  into  her  voice,  which,  in  spite  of 
his  deafness,  Slade  caught,  and  he  was  quick  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  it. 

Doubtfully,  still  a  little  bewildered,  but  her  hostility  for 
this  man  not  in  the  least  abated,  she  stepped  aside  at  last, 
and  coldly  bade  him  to  enter.  She  placed  the  lamp  upon  a 
table  in  the  tiny  hall.  "Wait  here,"  she  enjoined,  briefly, 
without  offering  him  a  seat,  and  so  left  him. 

Charlotte  Fairchild  was  one  of  those  very  tall  women, 
with  whom  we  rarely  meet,  who  are  not  awkward.  Instead, 
when  she  walked  every  movement  seemed  to  flow  in  graceful 
ripples  from  feet  to  shoulders,  beginning  without  abruptness 
and  dying  gradually  away  like  the  wavelets  on  the  surface 
of  a  disturbed  pond.  A  couplet  of  Herrick's  pictures  her: 

"  Then,  then  (methinks),  how  sweetly  flows 
The  liquefaction  of  her  clothes." 

And  yet  her  step  was  firm  and  swift,  giving  her  a  bearing 
exquisitely  impressive. 

Her  hands  and  feet  were  beautifully  formed,  long,  slender, 
and  tapering,  as  becomes  a  tall  woman;  and  her  voice  was 

[196] 


Miss  Charlotte  Waits  in  the  Hall 

one  of  those  rich,  liquid  contraltos,  always  effective  because 
always  subdued.  It  was  in  accord  with  her  habitual  repose; 
but  it  hinted  at  unlimited  possibilities  of  elemental  strength, 
and  the  presence  of  many  and  varied  forces  behind  her  calm 
exterior. 

Her  command  to  Mr.  Slade  was  imperative,  and  he 
stood  uncertainly  watching  her  as  she  walked  down  the  hall. 
At  its  end  she  opened  a  door,  and  even  the  man's  faulty 
hearing  could  catch  the  high,  impatient  voice  in  the  room 
beyond ;  a  voice  which  had  an  odd  effect  upon  him,  too,  for 
the  lean,  irascible  visage  actually  brightened,  and  a  light 
very  like  eagerness  shot  from  the  jetty  eyes. 

"  Child,  who  was  it  ?  "  the  voice  was  saying.  "  What  kept 
you  so  long  ?  Is  there  any  news  of  —  "  And  the  door  closed 
again. 

Mr.  Slade  was  obliged  to  stand  there  many  minutes,  fin- 
gering his  rusty  felt  hat,  before  Charlotte  reappeared  and, 
with  a  single  queenly  gesture,  beckoned  him  to  approach. 
But  when  he  finally  advanced  into  the  room,  Mrs.  Fairchild, 
paralyzed  from  the  waist  down,  might  have  been  a  chatelaine, 
and  he  the  overseer,  the  steward,  seeking  audience  on  affairs 
concerning  the  estate.  So  did  the  inherent  and  ineradica- 
ble traits  of  relative  breeding  naturally  and  unconsciously 
manifest  themselves.  Although  he  had  secured  the  coveted 
admission,  the  manner  of  his  reception  was  undoubtedly 
discouraging  to  his  purpose.  Mrs.  Fairchild's  first  words 
and  her  mien  were  a  further  check  to  approaching  his 
object. 

"  Well,  Slade,"  she  began,  with  unconscious  but  none  the 
less  galling  patronage,  "  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  Dear  me ! 
You  do  not  favor  your  father  in  the  least.  .  .  .  Daughter, 

[197] 


The  Silver  Blade 

hand  me  my  glasses.  .  .  .    Thank  you.  .  .  .    He  was  such 
a  large,  florid  man.     But  probably  your  health  — 

"Mamma,"  Charlotte  gently  interrupted,  "Mr.  Slade 
has  come  on  business.  Perhaps  he  cannot  be  detained." 
She  had  taken  a  position  behind  her  mother's  chair,  and  had 
leant  down  until  her  lips  were  close  to  the  lace  cap.  As  she 
stood  upright  again,  Mrs.  Fairchild  protested  petulantly: 

"Yes,  yes,  child;  I  know.  I  do  not  mean  to  detain  him. 
.  .  .  .What  were  you  saying,  Slade  ?  " 

That  individual  presented  a  spectacle  of  overwhelming 
embarrassment.  He  had  not  opened  his  mouth  since  enter- 
ing the  room,  and  now,  when  he  did,  it  was  to  appeal  to  the 
daughter. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Miss  Charlotte,"  he  whispered  hoarsely, 
as  if  he  did  not  intend  the  mother  to  hear,  "  for  God's  sake, 
leave  us.  What  I  have  to  say  is  very  private;  indeed  it  is. 
I  will  have  done  as  soon  as  possible." 

Charlotte  remained  motionless  behind  her  mother's  chair, 
returning  to  this  astonishing  outburst  a  look  of  wonder.  The 
older  woman  also  regarded  the  man  with  an  expression  of 
surprise. 

On  rare  occasions  —  especially  under  any  sudden  mental 
shock  or  access  of  feeling  —  Mrs.  Fairchild's  intellect  as- 
sumed something  of  its  old-time  activity  and  brightness. 
Slade  was  sensible  of  such  a  change  now,  though  unable  to 
define  it;  he  felt  the  personality  manifesting  itself  in  her 
look,  and  he  turned  from  Charlotte  to  her  with  whom  lay 
his  first  interest. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  the  occasion  for  such  an  extraordinary 
demand,  Slade,"  the  afflicted  lady  said  at  length;  "but  if  it 
may  be  of  any  advantage  to  you  my  daughter  shall  retire." 

[188] 


Miss  Charlotte  Waits  in  the  Hall 

"No,  no,  mamma,"  Charlotte  protested,  quickly.  "I 
fear  to  leave  you  with  this  —  this  man.  I  shall  be  deaf  and 
blind,  but  I  cannot  leave  you." 

Never  before  had  such  a  request  been  made  of  her,  and 
a  growing  dread  had  awakened  in  her  bosom  that  Slade's 
errand  boded  ill  for  her  mother.  Whence  come  these  pre- 
monitions of  impending  evil?  To  what  mysterious  depths 
of  our  being  do  they  owe  their  source,  and  why  is  it  customary 
to  deride  them?  Experience  certainly  justifies  that  we 
bestow  upon  these  inward  promptings  a  serious  considera- 
tion, yet  we  almost  invariably  ignore  and  ridicule  them. 
And  now  the  silent  warning  cries,  "  Stay ! " 

With  a  design  quite  patent,  Charlotte  again  addressed 
her  mother.  t 

"Do  not  forget  Clay,"  she  remarked;  and  the  vagrant 
memory  instantly  fastened  upon  the  name. 

"I  remember  perfectly  that  we  were  discussing  Clay," 
was  the  petulant  retort,  "  when  I  was  directed  away  from  the 
topic.  Pray  do  not  intimate  that  I  am  forgetful,  Charlotte. 
I  hope  you  do  not  so  far  forget  the  duty  and  respect  you  owe 
me  that  you  can  entertain  such  a  ridiculous  idea,  to  say 
nothing  of  uttering  it.  Proceed,  Slade,  with  what  you  were 
saying  about  my  son." 

He  fixed  his  beady  eyes  upon  Charlotte,  and  coughed 
dryly  behind  his  knuckly  hand. 

"When  the  girl  goes,"  said  he,  recovering  in  a  measure 
his  composure.  "  Remember,  I  asked  for  and  you  granted 
an  audience  —  private." 

"  An  audience  ?  " —  the  word  caught  — "  a  conference  ? 
Why,  certainly,  Slade."  The  request  was  granted  with  a 
sudden  assumption  of  dignity  —  a  fleeting,  simple  remnant 

[1991 


The  Silver  Blade 

of  other  times  —  that  caused  the  daughter  much  concern. 
Charlotte  feared  the  result  of  a  refusal  to  withdraw  quite 
as  much  as  she  feared  to  leave  her  mother  alone  with 
Slade;  but  with  many  misgivings  she  reluctantly  turned 
away  and  departed  from  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind 
her. 

No  earthly  interest  was  powerful  enough  to  allow  her  to 
remain  where  she  might  overhear  one  word  not  intended 
for  her  ears;  still,  the  feeling  of  dread,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Slade's 
assurances,  was  real  and  insistent;  above  all  things  she 
wanted  to  linger  within  sound  of  her  mother's  voice. 

What  powerful  motive  had  dictated  to-night's  intrusion  ? 
For,  earnestly  as  she  despised  the  man,  she  could  not  imagine 
him  pushing  his  way  into  the  house  upon  a  mere  whim,  or 
for  any  trifling  matter.  She  cast  back  over  the  past  as  far 
as  her  memory  could  penetrate,  but  no  circumstance  ap- 
peared to  afford  the  slightest  explanation  of  the  mysterious 
visit,  unless  —  unless  it  had,  indeed,  to  do  with  her  brother. 
And  here  her  thoughts  faltered,  for  there  were  many  reasons 
why  the  idea  should  increase  her  anxiety. 

She  glided  noiselessly  to  the  front  door,  and  throwing  it 
open,  looked  out  into  the  night.  An  overwhelming  sense 
of  her  loneliness  and  isolation  fell  upon  her.  The  feeling 
was  but  momentary,  however,  since  she  attacked  such  en- 
croachments of  depression  with  as  much  ardor  as  she  could 
muster  forth  from  her  dauntless  spirit.  Occasionally  the 
black  humor  mastered  her,  but  it  would  not  do  to  give  way 
to-night.  What  did  William  Slade,  son  of  a  treacherous 
steward,  want  of  her  mother  —  the  poor  wreck  of  woman- 
hood who  could  bestow  nothing  ?  '  But  Atropos,  in  severing 
the  past  from  the  present,  was  cutting  with  her  shears  a 

[200] 


Miss  Charlotte  Waits  in  the  Hall 

strange  pattern,  the  outlines  of  which  neither  Charlotte's  nor 
any  eye  could  perceive. 

The  faint  murmur  of  voices  came  to  her  where  she  stood, 
and  although  she  strove  not  to  permit  her  interest  to  acquire 
listening  ears,  it  was  unavoidable  that  she  should  hear  and 
note  certain  things:  that  the  caller  was  doing  most  of  the 
talking;  that,  while  the  words  were  wholly  unintelligible, 
he  seemed  to  be  speaking  with  vehemence,  and  that  her 
mother's  share  in  the  conversation  was  apparently  limited 
to  occasional  ejaculations  of  surprise.  This  continued  for 
many  minutes,  during  which  Charlotte  stood  motionless, 
her  tall,  willowy  form  drawn  into  a  rigid  erectness.  Under 
the  tensity  of  her  anxious  expectation,  her  sensitive  nostrils 
distended  and  contracted,  and  her  eyes  glowed,  in  the  dimly 
lighted  hall,  with  an  unnatural  brightness. 

Of  a  sudden  the  voices  ceased,  and  she  heard  Slade  take 
a  step  or  two.  Next,  the  faint  crackling  of  paper,  the  in- 
advertent snapping  of  a  rubber  band,  were  barely  distin- 
guishable —  and  silence. 

Her  stretched  imagination  insensibly  portrayed  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  scene:  the  man  probably  had  handed  her 
mother  some  document,  and  was  awaiting  her  perusal  of  it; 
he  stood  awkwardly  fumbling  that  ridiculous  hat,  while  her 
mother  searched  vainly  —  no,  she  had  her  glasses.  Pos- 
sibly, under  stress  of  the  excitement,  her  faculties  were  quite 
normal.  If  so,  she  was  reading  the  document  —  and  what 
was  its  effect  ? 

But  if  Mrs.  Fairchild  was  indeed  reading,  she  did  not 
read  far.  A  sudden  horrified  exclamation  almost  caused 
Charlotte  to  hasten  into  the  room;  but  it  was  followed  so 
quickly  by  the  voices  again  that  she  paused.  Now  her 

[201] 


The  Silver  Blade 

mother  was  talking  volubly.  Charlotte  even  fancied  she 
could  detect  contempt  and  scorn  in  the  tones.  Such  being 
the  case,  the  usually  clouded  faculties  must  now  be  abnor- 
mally active.  Slade  was  by  turns  protesting,  pleading,  and 
giving  way  to  his  peevish  temper.  The  spirited  colloquy 
came  to  an  abrupt  end  in  a  single  piercing  cry : 

"Charlotte!" 

For  an  instant  her  heart  ceased  beating;  a  benumbing 
chill  paralyzed  her  power  of  volition ;  then  she  rushed  to  the 
door  and  threw  it  open  with  a  crash. 

What  she  beheld  explained  but  little  to  her  alarmed 
senses.  Her  own  appearance  must  have  been  awe-inspiring, 
for  simultaneously  with  her  advent,  Slade  recoiled  in  obvious 
alarm.  She  could  see  that  her  mother  had  been  powerfully 
moved  by  some  recent  agitation,  the  exciting  influence  of 
which  had  by  no  means  subsided;  and  whatever  the  differ- 
ent phases  of  that  emotion  might  have  been,  they  had  un- 
doubtedly crystallized  into  a  violently  active  antipathy  for 
Mr.  William  Slade.  Her  right  hand  was  extended  toward 
Slade,  palm  outward,  as  if  to  ward  off  an  expected  attack; 
or  was  it  to  guard  the  papers  crushed  so  convulsively  in 
her  left  hand  and  pressed  so  fiercely  against  her  laboring 
bosom  ? 

As  for  the  man,  it  was  patent  that  the  situation  was  an 
unexpected  and  deeply  disappointing  outcome  of  his  visit. 
More  than  that,  he  appeared  overwhelmed,  stunned,  crushed, 
as  if  the  issue  involved  an  essential  to  his  being.  Never- 
theless, however,  whether  his  conduct  had  been  intentional 
or  not,  an  anger,  terrible  in  its  quietness,  gushed  from  the 
deep  well  of  Charlotte's  passionate  nature,  stirring  the  man 
from  his  despondency  by  its  very  intensity. 

[202] 


Miss  Charlotte  Waits  in  the  Hall 

"Go!"  she  commanded,  her  flexible  voice  striking  its 
deepest  note;  and  Slade  stepped  back  as  though  he  had 
been  slapped  in  the  face. 

With  a  swift,  lithe  movement,  Charlotte  stooped  and 
gathered  her  mother's  head  to  her  own  heaving  breast.  Slade 
opened  his  mouth,  as  if  to  speak,  but  the  words  were  stopped 
by  a  repetition  of  the  inexorable,  compelling,  low-voiced 
command : 

"Go!" 

He  retreated  nearer  the  door,  and  all  at  once  his  malig- 
nant nature  was  reflected  in  his  face.  He  regarded  Char- 
lotte with  a  look  of  mingled  malevolence  and  fear,  and  had 
his  been  the  stronger  personality  he  might  have  done  her 
violence.  But  as  it  was,  his  bloodless  lips  were  drawn  back 
in  a  snarl  of  hate  and  baffled  purpose,  although  he  was  plainly 
cowed  by  the  wrath  blazing  in  the  eloquent  eyes.  He  made 
an  effort,  nevertheless. 

"  My  papers,"  he  hissed.  One  hand  was  extended,  the 
bony  fingers  crooked  like  a  vulture's  claw.  "  My  papers  — 
Elinor,  you  have  no  right  —  " 

"Go!" 

Slade  was  not  an  Ajax  to  defy  the  lightning  of  that 
glance;  without  another  word,  with  but  one  more  glance 
of  malice  and  fruitless  hate,  he  slunk  from  the  room  — 
from  the  house  —  beaten  and  confounded. 

The  busy  little  clock  on  the  mantel  —  with  which  time 
was  indeed  fleeting  —  at  once  became  the  most  conspicuous 
object  in  the  room;  falling  embers  on  the  hearth  told  of  a 
dying  fire,  but  to  unheeding  ears;  a  gust  of  cool,  moist  air 
swept  in  through  the  unclosed  front  door,  and  the  two 
women  maintained  unaltered  positions  —  ten  minutes 

[2031 


The  Silver  Blade 

—  fifteen  —  until  Charlotte  felt  a  tremor  pass  through  her 
mother.  Her  expression  softened  rapidly,  and  her  look  and 
tones  were  all  gentleness  and  solicitude  as  she  bowed  her 
head  to  the  invalid's  face. 

"  It 's  all  right,  mamma,"  she  said,  coaxingly.  "  He  's 
gone.  He  could  not  have  hurt  you,  dear;  he  is  too  con- 
temptible a  coward."  In  spite  of  the  soothing  voice,  her 
expressive  upper  lip  involuntarily  curled.  "  Think  of  some- 
thing else,"  she  went  on ;  "  think  of  being  here  —  in  my 
arms  —  safe."  But  she  was  distressed  to  see  that  her  words 
and  calm  manner  made  not  the  least  impression;  that  her 
mother  was  utterly  deaf  to  them.  The  invalid  was  plainly 
laboring  under  a  fixed  idea  which  neutralized  every  other 
influence;  and  suddenly  she  thrust  Charlotte  away  from  her. 
It  did  not  relieve  the  daughter  to  know  that  the  action  was 
involuntary;  that  the  mother  was  oblivious  of  her  presence; 
instead,  her  fears  were  rapidly  intensified  by  a  biting  doubt 
of  the  probable  result  of  this  extraordinary  excitement.  The 
expression  of  fear  and  horror  had  not  faded  from  the  distended 
eyes,  and  the  papers  were  yet  clutched  to  her  breast  with  a 
grip  that  left  the  knuckles  white  and  bloodless. 

"Mother!  Don't  — don't  look  like  that!"  Charlotte 
cried  in  sudden  alarm.  "  What  is  it  ?  What  has  that  horri- 
ble man  done  to  frighten  you  so?  Come,  dear;  lay  your 
head  here,  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  There,  there;  nothing 
can  harm  you,  mamma  dear." 

Quite  as  abruptly  as  she  had  pushed  Charlotte  from 
herself,  Mrs.  Fairchild  now  suddenly  extended  toward  her 
daughter  the  papers  still  clutched  so  closely  by  a  trembling 
hand.  Even  in  her  nervous  anxiety  Charlotte  remarked 
that  there  were  quite  a  number  of  them,  and  that  they  were 

[204] 


Miss  Charlotte  Waits  in  the  Hall 

typewritten   and  bound,  after  the  manner  of  legal  docu- 
ments. 

"Here  —  child  —  take  these!"  The  words  came  con- 
vulsively, in  quick,  nervous  gasps.  "  The  fire  —  hold  them 
down  —  until  the  last  vestige  is  destroyed."  Her  utterance 
rose  to  such  a  mad  vehemence  that  the  words  became  almost 
incoherent.  "Don't  look!  Don't  look  at  them!  Burn 
them!  —  burn  them!  —  burn  them!  " 

Charlotte's  heart  was  throbbing  with  a  maddening  terror, 
her  thoughts  whirling  aimlessly,  like  a  flock  of  frightened 
birds.  Without  warning,  Mrs.  Fairchild  reached  out  and 
clutched  both  her  daughter's  hand  and  the  papers  together. 

"Swear,  child,"  she  went  on,  in  the  same  frenzied  man- 
ner; "swear  to  your  helpless  mother  that  you  will  not  look 
at  them;  swear  that  you  will  burn  them  here  before  my 
eyes  —  now.  Swear!" 

"Mamma!"  Charlotte  protested,  with  a  fleeting  idea  of 
possible  future  consequences,  —  again,  the  inward  prompt- 
ing,—  "  Mamma,  have  I  the  right  ?  What  may  happen  if  I 
obey  you?  Oh,  mother  dear,  wait!  Wait  until  you  are 
calmer;  you  are  overwrought  now;  you  do  not  know  what 
you  are  exacting.  Dear  —  dear  mamma,  I  shall  not  look 
at  them ;  but  let  me  place  —  ' 

But  this  earnest  though  gentle  opposition  so  fanned  the 
fire  of  excitement  that  Charlotte  instantly  regretted  her  words. 

"Child,  obey  me! "  the  mother  commanded,  with  almost 
savage  fierceness.  "  Hesitate  one  instant  longer,  and  I  shall 
hurl  my  worthless  body  to  the  floor  and  drag  myself  to  the 
fireplace  with  my  two  hands."  Then,  in  a  quick  transition, 
"O,  God! — Charlotte!  —  my  daughter!"  she  moaned; 
"to  think  I  am  helpless  in  this  awful  hour!  " 

[2051 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Hush,  hush,  dear;  I  will  do  as  you  say,  instantly.  I 
will  hold  them  down  to  the  coals  until  nothing  remains  but 
asnes.  &ee  ~~ 

But  stay  your  hand,  Charlotte!  What  if  you  now  hold 
the  only  existing  evidence  —  the  only  barrier  that  stands 
between  dear  ones  and  disaster!  Is  it  some  premonition  of 
the  truth  that  causes  you  to  hesitate  ? 

Alas,  the  papers  flutter  to  the  coals ! 

"See,  mamma;  they  burn." 

When  the  last  flame  had  expired,  when  nothing  but  flakes 
of  black  ashes  were  arising  on  the  draught  and  vanishing  up 
the  chimney,  Mrs.  Fairchild  began  to  laugh  —  violently, 
dreadfully. 

It  was  a  night  of  horror  for  Charlotte.  Quite  ignorant 
of  the  cause  of  her  mother's  fearful  condition,  she  was  obliged 
to  tend  the  frail  body  through  alternating  fits  of  hysterical 
laughter  and  weeping,  and  to  hearken  to  wild,  disordered 
monologues,  in  which  the  names  of  Peyton  Westbrook,  Wil- 
liam Slade,  and  her  own  dead  father  were  repeated  over  and 
over  again,  incoherently,  in  a  grotesque,  unintelligible  asso- 
ciation. 

However,  out  of  the  incomprehensible  jumble  of  words 
and  scraps  of  sentences,  Charlotte  began  at  last  to  construct 
a  meaning  —  very  vague  and  unsatisfying,  to  be  sure,  and 
exciting  an  almost  unbearable  curiosity  to  know  more;  but 
still  a  meaning.  The  three  names  seemed  to  be  mingled 
in  her  mother's  distraught  mind,  intimately  interwoven  with 
some  nameless  horror;  and  the  poor  shattered  intellect  was 
struggling  beneath  an  obsession  that  a  dire  calamity  threat- 
ened General  Westbrook. 

And  also,  as  she  listened,  there  came  presently  to  her  a 
[206] 


Miss  Charlotte  Waits  in  the  Hall 

most  peculiar  fancy  —  woven  of  such  stuff  as  dreams  are 
made  of,  but  sufficiently  tangible  to  cause  her  to  wonder;  a 
fancy  that  caused  her  to  murmur  incredulously,  "Mamma 
and  General  Westbrook!"  and  to  contrast  the  woman  as 
she  now  was  with  a  certain  portrait  of  Elinor  Clay  which 
graced  the  daughter's  chamber;  to  picture  the  General  as 
he  appeared  when  a  young  man.  A  great  feeling  of  newly 
born  pity  for  her  helpless  mother  stirred  in  her  bosom.  How 
incredible  that  this  querulous,  and  in  many  ways  childish, 
invalid  could  have  retained  such  a  secret  so  many  years. 
Indeed,  what  a  strange  coupling  of  names !  What  tragedy  of 
starved  romance  lay  hidden  here! 

But  what  threatened  General  Westbrook  ? 

Charlotte  was  destined  never  to  hear  from  her  mother. 
When  the  clamorous  little  clock  told  her  that  dawn  was  near, 
Mrs.  Fairchild  began  to  grow  quieter,  and  at  last  to  doze;  and 
from  that  sleep  she  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  awakened, 
unless  to  be  deprived  of  the  least  volition  of  every  member, 
to  be  unable  to  utter  an  articulate  sound,  to  be  more  helpless 
and  dependent  than  a  babe  newly  born,  is  to  be  counted 
among  the  quick  instead  of  the  dead. 


[207] 


CHAPTER  II 

MISS  CHARLOTTE  ENTERTAINS  A  CALLER 

IT  will  be  remembered  that  when  Mr.  Converse's  last 
tete-a-tete  with  Mr.  Follett  was  interrupted  by  the  sum- 
mons to  appear  at  headquarters,  he  had  just  terminated  a 
long  period  of  reflection  with  the  announcement  that  he  at 
last  knew  the  means  of  finding  young  Mr.  Fairchild.  De- 
spite the  night's  turbulent  events,  when  he  left  the  Westbrook 
home  in  charge  of  McCaleb  and  another  plain-clothes  man 
detailed  from  headquarters,  it  was  in  pursuance  of  a  plan 
that  had  been  incubating  in  his  mind  during  the  hours  when 
other  matters  were  apparently  occupying  his  exclusive  atten- 
tion. Immediately  after  his  unsatisfactory  interview  with 
Joyce  and  her  brother,  he  went  as  directly  to  the  Fairchild 
cottage  as  the  street  cars  would  carry  him. 

The  humble  abode  of  the  Fairchilds  nestled  snugly  in  a 
covering  of  climbing  roses,  honeysuckle,  and  feathery-fronded 
cypress.  Flowers  bloomed  everywhere;  for  upon  her  gar- 
den Charlotte  lavished  a  love  otherwise  denied  expression, 
and  Mr.  Converse's  eyes  kindled  when  they  caught  this  riot 
of  blossom.  Should  a  human  analyst  attempt  a  dissection 
of  this  man's  character,  he  would  be  very  much  astonished 
to  find  an  inborn  love  for  beautiful  flowers  among  its  other 
unusual  traits. 

A  certain  aged  fragment  of  the  old  family  menage,  known 
familiarly  as  Polly  Ann,  ushered  the  Captain  into  the  tiny 
entrance-hall ;  and  when  Miss  Charlotte  appeared  he  seemed 

[208] 


Miss  Charlotte  Entertains  a  Caller 

somewhat  startled.  He  had  never  seen  her,  that  he  knew  of, 
and  from  the  account  the  man  Adams  had  given  of  his 
experience  on  the  night  of  the  De  Sanchez  affair,  while  try- 
ing to  find  Clay,  he  had  come  prepared  to  deal  with  a  sour, 
crabbed  female  of  uncertain  age  and  an  uncompromising 
manner.  The  quiet  entrance  of  this  handsome,  graceful 
woman  left  him  disconcerted  for  an  instant.  A  woman  with 
such  an  air,  with  such  remarkable  eyes,  was  no  ordinary 
woman,  and  she  could  not  be  dealt  with  in  an  ordinary  way. 
One  might  as  well  try  to  move  a  mountain  as  to  intimidate 
a  person  who  regarded  one  so  fearlessly;  who  met  the  sharp, 
compelling  glance  with  a  look  of  polite  inquiry  which  clearly 
indicated  that  it  knew  not  how  to  falter. 

Converse's  plans  to  find  the  young  man  suddenly  evapo- 
rated ;  but  another  idea,  vastly  farther  reaching,  arose  in  his 
mind  instead. 

"  Converse  ?  "  Charlotte  repeated  when  he  had  announced 
his  identity;  and  after  a  slight  hesitation  she  asked,  "The 
detective  engaged  in  the  De  Sanchez  case,  are  you  not  ?  " 
Her  dark  eyes  continued  to  regard  him  steadily;  there  was 
not  the  faintest  play  of  expression  in  her  face,  which  seemed 
merely  sad  and  worn  and  white;  but  during  the  brief  hesi- 
tation he  noticed  that  she  laid  one  hand  above  her  heart. 

"I  am  either  going  to  have  plain  sailing  here,"  the  caller 
mentally  observed,  "or  in  about  two  minutes  there  begins 
the  devil's  own  time  for  John  Converse."  To  her  question 
he  answered: 

"Yes,  Miss  Fairchild;  and  I  hope  my  unceremonious 
call  does  not  startle  you.  While  you  must  grant  me  your 
indulgence,  let  me  assure  you  at  the  outset  that  there  is  not 
the  slightest  occasion  for  alarm."  The  keen  gray  eyes 

[209] 


The  Silver  Blade 

became  all  at  once  fixed  and  compelling,  giving  a  forceful 
meaning  to  the  concluding  words.  "I  have  come  here  to 
give  you  an  opportunity  to  help  a  friend  out  of  a  very  serious 
trouble." 

For  an  instant  she  regarded  him  blankly;  then  quickly 
her  countenance,  her  glance,  became  fairly  electrified. 

"  A  friend  ?  —  trouble  ?  —  whom  ?  "  she  demanded,  briefly 
and  directly. 

As  we  know,  it  was  not  Mr.  Converse's  custom  to  take 
strangers  into  his  confidence,  to  express  theories,  nor  to  yield 
up  motives ;  but  if  he  was  certain  of  anything  at  this  moment, 
it  was  a  conviction  that  whatever  success  was  to  come  from 
this  meeting  depended  entirely  upon  his  sincerity  and  abso- 
lute frankness.  If  such  eyes  and  such  a  manner  did  not 
mean  constancy  and  unshakable  loyalty  to  friends,  then  these 
virtues  did  not  exist.  If  he  concealed  anything  at  all,  it 
would  be  to  spare  her  feelings. 

There  was  a  pause  after  her  question.  The  cold,  mas- 
terful gray  eyes  returned  the  look  of  the  fearless,  lovely  dark 
eyes  during  a  silence  wherein  each  sought  to  read  the  other's 
purpose.  Then  he  replied: 

"Miss  Fairchild,  it  will  take  some  time  to  answer  your 
question ;  it  involves  so  much,  and  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  so 
much  before  you  can  understand,  that  I  fear  your  patience 
will—" 

"But  a  friend,"  she  interrupted;  "you  said  a  friend  was 
in  trouble.  Who?  I  do  not  understand." 

He  bowed.  "  That  is  what  I  wish  to  tell  you.  Am  I  to 
take  it  that  you  will  hear  me;  that  I  may  tell  it  in  my  own 
way  ?  " 

Charlotte  contemplated  him  a  moment  longer,  while  he 
[2101 


Miss  Charlotte  Entertains  a  Caller 

returned  the  look  earnestly  and  gravely;  then,  apparently 
satisfied,  she  indicated  by  a  gesture  the  front  room. 

And  suddenly  he  fell  to  scratching  his  head  with  an  air 
of  comical  embarrassment. 

"If  you  will  pardon  me,  Miss  Fairchild,"  said  he,  "allow 
me  to  suggest  the  porch  this  pleasant  morning.  I  want  to 
enjoy  those  lovely  flowers  while  I  may.  I  declare,  I  never 
saw  anything  like  them  in  my  life.  I  noticed  a  variegated 
chrysanthemum  —  very  large  bloom  —  remarkable !  Some 
time  —  that  is,  if  the  occasion  ever  presents  itself  —  I  should 
like  to  ask  —  to  ask  you  —  He  stopped,  as  if  overcome 
by  the  smile  which  all  at  once  illumined  her  features.  He  had 
struck  a  responsive  chord;  for  Charlotte  was  undisguisedly, 
girlishly  pleased  at  any  honest  admiration  of  her  cherished 
possession.  To  the  porch,  by  all  means. 

The  Captain  filled  his  prodigious  chest  with  the  sweet 
air.  "  It  is  like  wine,  Miss  Fairchild,"  he  said,  quietly;  "  you 
can't  imagine  what  this  means  to  a  city  man  like  me.  It 's 
hard  to  think  of  evil  at  such  a  tune." 

"Oh  —  don't!"  she  protested,  still  smiling;  "think  of 
the  flowers  instead.  I  am  glad  you  like  them.  Any  one 
who  loves  flowers  sincerely  can  think  of  evil  only  to  hate 
it." 

"Very  true,"  he  returned,  looking  gravely  at  her;  "very 
true.  But  hating  the  evil  does  not  affect  it.  ...  Ah!  a 
mocking-bird ! " 

If  this  one  touch  of  nature  did  not  quite  make  the  whole 
world  kin,  it  at  least  brought  the  spirits  of  these  two  into  so 
much  closer  harmony  that  it  was  comparatively  easy  to  plunge 
into  confidences. 

"  Hating  evil  does  not  affect  it,"  Converse  went  on,  after 
[211] 


The  Silver  Blade 

a  bit.  "  When  it  encompasses  and  threatens  our  friends,  we 
must  even  step  forward  and  tackle  it  —  that  is,  of  course,  if 
we  wish  to  aid  them." 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,"  she  said,  in  her  tranquil  way,  which 
nevertheless  had  become  serious.  "You  said  that  a  friend 
was  in  trouble.  I  suppose  you  mean  to  tell  it,  as  you  say, 
in  your  own  way;  that  it  has  to  do  with  this  dreadful  mur- 
der —  or  with  my  brother.  Very  well,  I  will  hear  you ; 
go  on." 

Covertly,  he  studied  the  stately  woman  who  sat  so  few 
paces  from  him.  She  was  beautiful  this  morning;  a  tinge 
of  color  had  crept  into  her  cheeks  since  his  coming;  the 
expressive  eyes,  now  half  veiled  by  abundant  curling  lashes, 
glowed  with  a  look  of  tenderness  in  their  depths  as  they 
turned  again  and  again  toward  the  vista  of  roadway  which 
led  to  the  city.  If  she  was  expecting  somebody,  it  behooved 
him  to  hasten. 

"Miss  Fairchild,"  he  began,  with  a  concentration  of 
purpose,  the  unexpectedness  of  which  made  her  turn  to  him 
with  a  little  start,  "I  have  endeavored  to  reassure  you  re- 
garding my  call  here  this  morning,  and  I  wish  to  repeat  that 
there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  feel  any  alarm.  But 
what  I  have  to  say  will  distress  you;  it  will  fill  you  with 
anxiety,  for  I  know  you  are  quick  to  feel  for  your  friends 
and  those  dear  to  you,  and  that  you  feel  strongly.  Yet,  if 
you  will  hear  me  out  —  if  you  will  lend  me  your  aid  —  if 
we  put  our  two  heads  together,  I  am  confident  we  can  evolve 
some  sort  of  plan  that  will  work  for  the  good  of  more  than 
one  person  in  whom  you  are  interested."  He  looked  at  her 
intently  while  speaking,  and  before  he  had  done  her  cheeks 
went  white  again;  her  eyes  dropped,  and  the  slim  fingers 

[212]  . 


Miss  Charlotte  Entertains  a  Caller 

began  plucking  at  a  spray  of  honeysuckle.  But  her  voice 
was  steady  when  she  rejoined : 

"  I  suppose  your  coming  here  has  to  do  with  my  brother," 
she  said  without  looking  up, —  "  with  Clay  ?  " 

"Primarily,  yes.  But  my  errand  involves  a  deal  more. 
.  .  .  However,  before  I  begin  I  want  to  make  a  confession. 
When  I  started  here  it  was  with  a  determination  to  resort 
to  every  method  known  to  my  calling  to  secure  the  informa- 
tion I  am  seeking;  to  bully  you  if  necessary;  to  frighten  you 
if  I  could  —  in  short,  to  use  every  art  and  device  that  ex- 
pediency might  justify.  Those  methods  are  often  cruel; 
they  are  not  always  honest  —  but  in  my  calling  you  have 
to  meet  craft  with  craft,  Miss  Fairchild;  cunning  with  cun- 
ning —  and  they  are  not  such  as  you  would  associate  with 
the  word  '  gentleman.' ' 

"  And  now  ? "     She  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Well,  now  —  I  have  considerably  revised  that  deter- 
mination." 

"Thank  you."  Once  more  her  face  was  illumined  by 
the  winning  smile. 

"No,  no;  don't  thank  me;  thank  yourself.  If  more 
of  the  people  who  are  tangled  up  in  this  business  considered 
it  less  a  game  the  object  of  which  is  to  conceal  as  much  as 
possible,  and,  instead,  exercised  a  grain  or  two  of  common 
sense,  we  might  have  been  out  of  the  woods  before  this.  As 
it  is  —  "  He  paused  and  frowned  at  the  denuded  spray  of 
honeysuckle. 

"  Well  ? "  queried  Charlotte,  looking  up  once  more  and 
casting  the  spray  from  her.  He  faced  her  abruptly. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "as  it  is,  there  are  one  or  two  indi- 
viduals who  are  well  on  the  way  to  losing  themselves  entirely 

[213] 


The  Silver  Blade 

—  that  is,  if  some  well-intentioned  person  does  n't  step  in 
and  show  them  the  road  out."  Again  he  paused. 

"  And  so  you  have  come  to  me  ? "  she  asked. 

He  nodded.  "But  before  we  can  show  them  the  way 
out  we  have  to  be  pretty  sure  of  it  ourselves.  As  a  game  of 
hide-and-seek,  you  would  be  surprised  at  the  ingenuity  dis- 
played in  keeping  things  hid  from  me.  .  .  .  Miss  Fairchild,  I 
am  going  to  be  blunt.  Your  brother  has  acted  very  foolish- 
ly. The  different  factors  in  this  game  have  been  suddenly 
thrown  into  a  panic;  like  a  crowd  at  a  theatre  when 
the  cry  of  fire  is  raised,  they  impede  each  other,  and  do  not 
help  themselves.  Mr.  Fairchild's  move  was  as  silly  and 
uncalled  for  as  any  I  have  yet  encountered." 

"  You  do  indeed  make  me  anxious,"  said  Charlotte;  " but 
I  am  very  ignorant  of  this  wretched  affair." 

"Yes;  I  do  not  doubt  that  now,"  he  quietly  interposed. 
"But  I  also  know  that  you  caft  be  a  very  powerful  factor 
in  clearing  up  the  mystery." 

She  regarded  him  incredulously.  "Oh,  no,"  she  pro- 
tested; "what  can  I  do?"  Then,  after  waiting  a  moment, 
she  faltered :  "  But  tell  me,  Mr.  Converse,  do  —  do  you 
believe  him  —  my  brother  — 

He  laughed.     "Do  you?" 

"Mr.  Converse,"  her  dignity  was  impressive,  "I  have 
his  word." 

Again  he  laughed.  "Miss  Fairchild,"  said  he  with  an 
abrupt  transition  to  seriousness,  "  at  this  moment  the  idea  of 
bullying  or  frightening  you  would  strike  me  as  being  absurd 
were  I  not  humbly  contrite  for  ever  having  entertained  such 
a  thought ;  but  the  emergency  is  so  urgent  —  a  certain  per- 
son is  threatened  by  so  lively  a  peril  —  that  it  is  really  im- 

[214] 


Miss  Charlotte  Entertains  a  Caller 

perative  that  something  be  done  for  that  person  immediately. 
If  you  and  I  should  get  at  cross-purposes  —  why,  I  believe 
now  that  I  could  only  step  to  one  side  and  let  events  take 
their  own  way.  To  prove  that  I  am  contrite,  I  am  going  to 
warn  you  against  myself." 

Charlotte  said  nothing. 

"You  have  been  in  communication  with  your  brother 
since  he  disappeared.  No,"  he  went  on  hastily,  as  she 
seemed  about  to  speak,  "  I  am  not  going  to  take  any  unfair 
advantage  of  you.  Instead,  with  your  permission,  I  intend 
taking  you  into  my  confidence ;  go  over  the  ground  from  my 
knowledge  of  the  facts;  and  then  lay  before  you  my  deduc- 
tions therefrom,  together  with  the  immediate  motives  for  my 
intrusion.  Afterward  I  shall  ask  you  what  I  wish  to  know." 

He  waited  with  his  gaze  fixed  sharply  upon  her.  She 
sat  for  some  time  thoughtful. 

"As  I  have  told  you,  I  am  very  anxious.  From  your 
manner  I  know  the  occasion  to  be  serious,  and  that  you  are 
striving  to  temper  its  seriousness.  You  say  that  a  friend  is 
in  trouble,  Mr.  Converse;  well,  that  is  enough  to  spur  my 
interest,  were  any  such  spur  needed.  But  I  can  only  repeat 
that  I  am  very  ignorant  of  this  matter.  Still,  I  will  say  this, 
in  the  hope  that  it  will  cause  you  to  speak  freely.  You  have 
somehow  inspired  my  confidence;  I  feel  sure  you  have  come, 
led  by  a  tender  consideration  for  somebody's  feelings,  and 
that  now  you  are  governed  by  a  consideration  for  my  own 
feelings.  It  would  be  a  poor  return,  indeed,  if  I  withheld 
any  aid  that  might  lie  within  my  power.  I  will  pledge 
myself  to  lend  you  every  assistance  I  can;  but  it  cannot  be 
much.  From  what  I  have  heard  of  you,  I  consider  it  quite  a 
compliment  that  you  should  thus  tender  me  your  confidence." 

[215] 


The  Silver  Blade 

In  scornful  deprecation  he  exclaimed  against  the  attri- 
butes with  which  her  words  invested  him.  "I  never  sin- 
cerely complimented  anybody  in  my  life, —  unless,  perhaps, 
I  was  after  something;  so  you  had  better  take  care.  Seri- 
ously, though,  the  things  I  have  told  you  are  merely  necessary 
statements  of  fact.  I  am  not  secretive  by  nature,  Miss 
Fairchild,  though  you  could  find  a  good  many  people  whom 
it  would  be  hard  to  make  believe  that.  That  I  am  at  all 
is  far  from  complimentary  to  those  with  whom  I  daily  mingle. 
The  bright  spots  in  my  life  are  when  I  meet  with  somebody 
with  whom  I  can  be  as  open  as  the  day. 

"  But  I  have  n't  answered  your  question  yet :  Do  I  believe 
your  brother  guilty  of  any  participation  in  De  Sanchez's 
death  ?  No.  Nor  of  any  participation  in  last  night's  affair." 

Charlotte  stared.  "  Last  night's  affair! "  she  cried.  "  Do 
you  refer  to  —  to  Mr.  Slade  ?  " 

"  Slade  ? "  he  repeated, —  and  reflected.  Here  was  a 
consideration  which,  the  instant  it  flashed  into  his  mind, 
caused  him  to  wonder  why  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  before ; 
but  that  everybody  who  could  read  or  was  not  stone-deaf 
knew  of  the  Westbrook  tragedy  was  to  be  taken  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Yet  it  was  impossible  that  this  woman  could  be 
so  at  ease  —  her  manner  so  tranquil  —  and  at  the  same  time 
have  knowledge  of  the  recent  assassination.  But  Slade  — 
what  is  this  of  Slade  ? 

"Miss  Fairchild,"  he  asked  at  length,  "don't  you  get  a 
morning  paper  here  ?  " 

"No.  We  have  never  taken  one  at  the  house;  Clay 
usually  brought  the  papers  home  from  the  office." 

"  And  your  relations  with  the  Westbrook  family  are  very 
close,  are  they  not  ?  " 

[216] 


Miss  Charlotte  Entertains  a  Caller 

At  first  she  blushed  slightly ;  then  suddenly  the  last  vestige 
of  color  ebbed  from  her  cheeks,  and  for  the  second  time  the 
slender  hand  rested  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered  with  bated  breath.     "  Why  ?  " 

"Then,  Miss  Fairchild,  I  am  afraid  I  am  the  bearer  of 
very  sad  —  " 

As  a  leopardess  might  have  sprung,  she  stood  quivering 
above  him,  her  eyes  tragic,  her  slim  fingers  interlocked  in  a 
convulsive  clasp  before  her. 

"Quick!"  she  demanded  in  a  tense  whisper,  "has  any- 
thing happened  to  Mobley  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  be  assured.     It  was  —  " 

"Oh,  not  Joyce?" 

"  General  Westbrook." 

She  caught  her  breath  sharply,  and  seemed  unable  to 
speak;  and  like  a  blind  person,  returned  to  her  seat.  But 
in  a  moment  she  was  more  tranquil  and  very  earnest. 

"  Tell  me  plainly,  Mr.  Converse  —  is  this  the  —  the 
trouble  ?  " 

"  It  is  bad  enough,  Miss  Fairchild;  the  General  is — dead." 

"  Dead !  General  Westbrook  dead !  Oh  —  "  she  checked 
herself,  the  back  of  one  hand  upon  her  lips,  and  waited. 

"  Yes.  It  looks  very  much  as  though  he  had  been  — " 
he  hesitated,  doubtful  whether  to  tell  her;  but  the  plain 
truth  being  unavoidable,  he  concluded,  "assassinated." 

With  an  exclamation  of  horror,  she  clasped  her  hands. 
There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence,  during  which  she 
regarded  him  with  wide,  startled  eyes  —  a  look  which  told 
piteously  that  this  abrupt  announcement  had  penetrated 
her  susceptible  heart,  searching  out,  with  callous  cruelty, 
each  tender  spot  that  could  be  lacerated  and  hurt. 

[217] 


The  Silver  Blade 

At  last  she  cried  aloud,  in  blank,  utter  dismay:  "Mr. 
Converse !  Oh,  this  is  awful !  Joyce !  poor  child !  —  and 
Mobley!"  She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and,  rising, 
rushed  precipitately  into  the  house. 

The  Captain  sat  motionless,  in  a  dilemma  whether  to 
depart  or  to  wait;  wondering  what  Charlotte  herself  wished 
him  to  do;  deeply  moved  by  her  distress,  which  was  so  much 
greater  than  he  could  possibly  have  expected. 

But  Polly  Ann  immediately  set  his  doubts  at  rest.  The 
face  she  presented  to  him  was  both  troubled  and  wrathful. 

"  Miss  Cha'lotte  she  say  fo'  you  ter  wait,"  she  said  with 
unaccountable  severity.  The  announcement  had  much  the 
nature  of  a  peremptory  command. 

"All  right,  Aunty,"  responded  the  Captain,  absently. 

"Don'  yer  'aunty'  me."     Her  voice  rose  rapidly.     "I 
hain't  no  aunty  er  yo'n.     All  yer  has  ter  do  is  ter  des  wait  — 
heah."     She  designated  the  porch  with  a  stern  and  accusing 
finger.     "  Mon,  whut  yer  do  ter  Miss  Cha'lotte  ?  " 

At  last  the  reason  for  this  anger  became  plain.  "I 
brought  her  some  very  sad  news,"  he  replied. 

"  La !  is  dat  whut 's  de  matteh  ? "  Then,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper,  "  Anything  happen  ter  Docteh  Mobley  Wes'brook  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"His  father  was  killed  last  night." 

Incredulity  and  astonishment  overspread  the  black  face, 
and  Polly  Ann  threw  aloft  her  hands.  Mr.  Converse  Avas 
obliged,  briefly,  to  detail  the  particulars.  Polly  Ann  in- 
quired, anxiously: 

"  Is  you  a  docteh  ?  " 

"No,  Aunty.     Why?" 

She  advanced  nearer  and  lowered  her  voice.      "  Kase  I  'se 
[218] 


Miss  Charlotte  Entertains  a  Caller 

worried  'bout  Miss  Elinor,  seh.  Miss  Cha'lotte  done  send 
fo'  Docteh  Mobley  already  dis  mawnin' ;  but  I  don'  spec'  he 
come  now  wid  he  pa  daid." 

Polly  Ann  shook  her  head  dubiously  as  she  moved  slowly 
back  into  the  house.  "Hit  don'  look  right,"  she  muttered, 
"  'bout  Miss  Elinor,  an'  I  'se  nowise  satisfied  in  my  min'. 
.  .  .  An'  de  General  daid!  Lawd!  Lawd!  Hit  sho'  do 
look  lak  er  jedgment;  hit  sho'  do!" 


[219] 


CHAPTER   III 

"PAQUITA  —  WHAT  DO  YOU  SPELL?" 

PRESENTLY    Charlotte    reappeared,    composed    and 
listless,  her  pale  countenance  subdued  with  sorrow. 

"  You  must  pardon  my  having  left  you  so  uncere- 
moniously," she  began,  her  quiet  voice  even  quieter  than 
usual;  " but  your  news  was  so  shocking  —  my  rest  has  been 
so  broken  —  that  I  was  not  strong  to  bear  it.  It  is  appalling, 
Mr.  Converse;  I  don't  fully  realize  it  yet.  It  troubles  me 
greatly  to  be  so  situated  that  I  cannot  go  to  Joyce." 

"I,  too,  regret  that  you  cannot,"  he  returned,  with  a 
meaning  hidden  from  Charlotte. 

She  wanted  to  hear  the  particulars,  and  after  he  had 
complied,  briefly,  she  turned  to  him  and  asked : 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it  ?  " 

Before  replying,  he  ran  a  hand  thoughtfully  through  his 
gray  hair. 

"There  are  two  or  three  questions  I  should  like  to  ask 
you  before  going  into  that,"  he  returned,  "if  you  please." 
After  a  slight  pause,  taking  her  silence  for  consent,  he  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  In  my  investigation  of  the  two  cases  I  have  encountered 
several  coincidences  so  striking  and  suggestive  that  they 
require  the  fullest  elucidation.  Whenever  I  set  my  mind 
to  working  upon  any  phase  of  the  duplex  problem,  one  mystic 
word  immediately  becomes  the  pivot  about  which  everything 
else  begins  to  circle;  whatever  reasonable  theory  I  may 

[220] 


'  Paquita  -  -  What  Do  You  Spell  ? ' 

begin  to  develop,  it  sooner  or  later  encounters  '  Paquita,'  and 
I  am  unable  to  get  beyond  her,  or  to  see  anything  very  clearly 
for  the  shadow  she  casts.  And  now,  in  the  face  of  evidence 
all  pointing  quite  another  way,  I  have  become  possessed  of  a 
conviction  that  'Paquita'  embodies  the  crux  of  the  entire 
problem.  Paquita  —  what  do  you  spell  ?  Silence  is  the 
only  answer."  Suddenly  he  caught  the  intent  look  with 
which  she  was  following  him,  and  he  laughed  in  a  depre- 
cating way. 

"Heaven  knows,  I  am  prosaic  enough  myself,  Miss 
Fairchild,"  he  continued,  "but  I  overlook  no  possibilities, 
however  slender  they  may  be;  and  it  is  particularly  aggra- 
vating to  have  a  circumstance  like  this  remain  so  completely 
inexplicable  —  so  insusceptible  to  the  most  determined 
efforts.  It  is  as  if  the  minx  were  mocking  me.  I  have 
spent  a  number  of  years  in  Latin  America,  and  am  tolerably 
familiar  with  their  customs;  but  everything  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  ascertain  of  the  shadowy  Paquita  has  been  as  barren 
of  results  as  my  father's  old  Connecticut  farm.  That  mys- 
terious name  suggests  an  element  of  romance  which  appeals  to 
the  average  individual;  but  the  romance  is  not  forthcoming." 
"Does  the  name  appear  elsewhere  besides  on  Doctor 
Westbrook's  paper-knife  ? " 

For  answer  he  drew  forth  his  pocket-book,  and  pro- 
ducing therefrom  the  bit  of  paper  he  had  found  in  the  West- 
brook  ash-hopper,  handed  it  to  her. 

"  This  is  all  that  remains  of  a  letter  received  by  General 
Westbrook  day  before  yesterday,  and  burnt  by  him  some 
time  during  the  same  night.  I  was  searching  for  something 
altogether  different  —  a  writing  upon  which  he  was  engaged 
shortly  before  his  death  —  and  was  led  to  this. 

[2211 


The  Silver  Blade 

"The  newspapers,  as  you  know,  made  the  most  of  the 
'Paquita'  on  the  dagger-handle;  you  are  familiar  with  the 
unknown  and  mysterious  senorita  of  the  press,  betrayed  and 
revengeful,  striking  from  the  grave  through  the  medium 
of  Doctor  Westbrook's  paper-knife ;  but  in  reality  she  is  not 
only  unknown,  but  there  is  not  the  slightest  evidence  that 
any  such  person  ever  existed.  I  could  imagine  a  secret 
enemy  of  the  General's  choosing  that  name  behind  which 
to  mask  his  identity,  especially  at  a  time  when  it  is  fresh  in 
everybody's  mind ;  yet  the  fact  that  the  letter  itself  is  written 
in  Spanish  is  strongly  against  this  idea.  That  letter  was 
concluded  in  such  a  manner  that  the  signature  was  an  im- 
portant part  of  the  context." 

"  You  have  heard  the  story  of  the  dagger,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  the  truth  is  far  from  being  so  romantic ;  it 
is  quite  sordid,  in  fact." 

"  The  truth  ?     I  fail  to  understand." 

"Yes.  You  know  that  we  police  in  the  different  cities 
all  over  the  civilized  world  work  together  to  a  certain  extent, 
and  assist  each  other  whenever  we  can;  complete  and  sys- 
tematic records  are  kept  of  each  detail  —  no  matter  how 
unimportant  or  trivial  it  may  seem  —  of  every  matter  com- 
ing to  us  in  an  official  way,  and  those  records  are  always  at 
the  disposal  of  the  police  in  any  city. 

"I  dislike  spoiling  the  pretty  romance  of  the  dagger," 
with  an  apologetic  smile;  "but  the  facts  are  these:  A  Mexi- 
can girl,  of  the  peon  class,  went  to  Mexico  City  some  six 
or  seven  years  ago  from  the  United  States.  She  was  accom- 
panied by  her  brother,  also  an  ignorant  and  extremely  dirty 
peon  —  what  we  call  a  '  greaser '  here.  They  had  no  money, 
apparently  were  animated  by  no  greater  desire  to  acquire 

[222] 


'  Paquita  -  -What  Do  You  Spell  ? ' 

any  than  usually  inspires  the  average  peon,  and  they  lived 
in  a  hovel  in  the  poorest  quarter  of  the  capital.  Now,  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  that  rather  remarkable  dagger  they  would 
have  been  forgotten  long  ago.  They  were  both  dead  within 
a  month  after  their  arrival,  —  smallpox.  She  killed  herself 
during  delirium;  he  died  a  few  days  later  in  a  pest-camp.  It 
is  sordid  enough,  you  see.  It  is  that  very  unusual  weapon 
alone  that  has  saved  them  from  oblivion.  How  did  they 
come  by  it  ?  It  is  impossible  to  say  —  stole  it,  probably ; 
but  if  so,  it  has  been  advertised  enough  of  late,  in  all  con- 
science, to  attract  its  owner  if  he  be  alive  anywhere  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  But  there  are  enterprising  newspapers 
also  in  the  City  of  Mexico,  and  enterprising  dealers  in  curios ; 
so  there  you  have  the  genesis  of  the  story  of  the  Doctor's 
paper-knife.  So  much  for  it.  ...  Now  then,  question 
one :  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  other  Paquita  ?  " 

Charlotte's  answer  was  a  decided  negative.  "  If  you  are 
trying  to  establish  such  a  person  as  ever  having  been  a  living 
reality,  and  as  ever  having  had  interests  involved  with  the 
past  of  the  Westbrook  family,  I  believe  it  will  lead  to  nothing ; 
unless  —  unless  —  " 

"Well?" 

"Well,  unless  it  can  be  found  in  General  Westbrook's 
life  in  Mexico.  But  think  of  his  character,  his  integrity,  his 
extraordinary  family  pride  —  are  they  not  incompatible  with 
the  existence  of  such  a  secret  ?  " 

Converse  nodded.  "And  I  might  add,"  he  said,  "that 
here  again  the  pretty  complete  facts  do  not  warrant  the 
slightest  ground  for  such  a  theory." 

"  But  — "  Charlotte  hesitated,  "  what  has  all  this  to  do 
with  a  friend  in  trouble  ? " 

[2231 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Patience,  please;  I  shall  get  to  that  in  good  time.  I 
want  you  to  know  certain  facts  first,  for  without  this  pre- 
amble the  name  will  occasion  a  shock  that  all  the  after- 
assurance  and  reasoning  may  not  remove.  You  must  be 
prepared  for  the  name  before  I  blurt  it  out." 

"Very  well,  I  am  resigned,"  she  returned  with  a  faint 
smile.  Since  her  return  to  the  porch  all  the  brightness  had 
left  her  face  and  eyes;  the  caller  noted  that  she  looked  no 
more  down  the  roadway  toward  the  city,  and  even  her  smile 
was  colorless  and  without  the  least  spark  of  animation. 
"  May  I  ask  you  a  question  ?  "  she  concluded. 

"Certainly,  Miss  Fairchild;   certainly." 

"  How  about  that  man  —  the  Mexican  —  Vargas  ?  Even 
though  I  know  but  little  of  these  dreadful  affairs,  I  have 
thought  a  great  deal.  And  that  man:  what  do  you  know  of 
him?" 

"I  am  glad  you  asked  this  question,  because  it  touches 
upon  a  point  about  which  I  wish  to  speak  fully." 

The  Captain  then  recounted  Vargas's  testimony  at  the 
first  inquest,  adding  that  it  had  since  been  fully  corroborated 
and  amplified  by  exhaustive  inquiries  in  Mexico. 

"  But  still,"  continued  the  speaker,  "  there  is  a  point  where 
Senor  Vargas  comes  into  our  mystery.  He  is  shrewd  and 
aggressive,  and  has  more  than  doubled  his  wealth  since 
taking  up  his  residence  in  Mexico.  He  has  only  one  rela- 
tive —  a  niece.  She  is  merely  a  child  who  has  spent  all  her 
life  in  a  convent;  as  commonplace,  as  ignorant  of  the  world, 
and  as  innocent  as  only  such  a  child  —  and  especially  a 
Spanish  child  —  could  possibly  be.  Bear  in  mind,  Miss 
Fairchild,  that  these  are  established  facts.  I  am  relating 
them  as  briefly  as  possible ;  but  they  are  necessary  in  leading 

[224] 


'Paquita--What  Do  You  Spell?' 

up  to  my  next  question.  Here  is  a  point  I  wish  you  also  to 
remember;  you  will  see  why  as  I  proceed.  A  year  or  two 
ago  Vargas  purchased  a  hacienda  from  the  administrators 
of  the  estate  of  one  Don  Juan  del  Castillo,  which  he  so  lav- 
ishly remodelled  that  it  is  now  a  veritable  palace.  Don  Juan 
had  been  a  very  wealthy  man  at  one  time,  having  a  vast 
estate ;  but  his  decease  disclosed  the  fact  that  his  affairs  were 
in  a  chaotic  condition,  and  that  he  was  practically  bankrupt. 
This  man  had  never  married,  and  all  the  formalities,  besides 
a  diligent  search,  failed  to  bring  forward  any  authentic  heirs. 
In  short,  none  have  ever  appeared. 

"These  facts  concerning  Don  Juan  are  interesting  for 
four  reasons :  first,  the  banking  house  of  De  Sanchez  and  De 
Sanchez  —  of  which  General  Westbrook  was  at  that  time  a 
partner  —  was  administrator  of  the  Castillo  estate;  second, 
last  night  and  shortly  before  his  death,  the  General  was  en- 
gaged in  the  compilation  of  a  document  headed  '  Memoran- 
dum of  Castillo  Estate,'  which  document  was  taken  from  his 
desk  before  the  officers  arrived ;  third,  that  while  the  county 
records  have  been  carefully  searched  for  the  purpose  of 
ascertaining  if  any  of  these  foreigners  had  ever  held  any 
property  interests  here,  it  was  not  until  a  day  or  two  ago  that 
a  single  thing  was  found  to  justify  the  trouble.  What  that 
was  is  queer  enough. 

"  In  November,  eighteen  fifty-nine,  a  mortgage  was  filed 
for  record  by  one  John  S.  Castle." 

"Castle!  "  Charlotte  became  suddenly  alert. 

"Ah,  I  see  the  name  is  not  unfamiliar  to  you;  but  let 
me  finish.  The  property  mortgaged,  among  other  parcels 
of  realty,  included  your  old  family  homestead.  Of  course 
the  mortgager  was  your  father.  Now,  with  the  name  of 

[225] 


The  Silver  Blade 

John  S.  Castle  to  guide  us  through  the  index  to  the  mortgage 
records,  we  find  the  next  item  of  interest  just  three  years 
later  —  namely,  in  November,  eighteen  sixty-two  —  when 
the  mortgage  was  renewed.  In  another  three  years  —  that 
is,  in  November  sixty-five  —  it  was  again  renewed;  then, 
in  November,  eighteen  sixty-eight,  an  assignment  of  mort- 
gage was  filed,  transferring  this  particular  one  to  William 
Slade,  senior,  your  old  overseer.  Here  John  S.  Castle  dis- 
appears for  good  and  all;  what  followed  concerning  the 
mortgage  is  irrelevant;  but  the  point  I  wish  to  make  is,  that 
the  name  John  S.  Castle  is  the  English  equivalent  of  Juan 
S.  Castillo.  This  is  the  fourth  reason  why  Vargas  interests 
me.  I  have  been  unable  to  find  any  other  trace  of  Castle. 
And  now,  can  all  this  be  mere  coincidence  ? 

"  My  next  question  to  you  is :  Have  you  any  knowledge 
of  Castle,  or  Slade,  or  is  there  any  event  in  your  family  his- 
tory that  may  by  any  chance  throw  light  into  these  dark 
places  ?  Or  could  either  your  mother  or  Mr.  Clay  do  so  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Converse,  this  is  all  so  marvellous  that  I  am  a  little 
bewildered.  I  never  should  have  imagined  that  these  dread- 
ful tragedies  could  involve  so  much.  How  ever  in  the  world 
did  you  discover  so  many  details  ?  But  I  am  unable  to  tell 
you  much.  As  to  mamma,  I  cannot  say.  Her  memory, 
of  course  —  such  as  it  is,  Mr.  Converse  —  goes  back  farther 
than  mine.  But  Clay  —  I  am  certain  he  could  be  of  no 
assistance;  he  is  always  impatient  of  dwelling  upon  our 
more  prosperous  days;  mamma,  at  times,  is  rather  inclined 
to  —  to  —  well,  to  contrast  our  present  circumstances  with 
what  they  were  before  papa  died,  and  Clay  invariably  leaves 
the  room  on  such  occasions.  John  S.  Castle  was  always 
considered  a  fiction  in  our  family,  behind  which  the  elder 

[22(5] 


'  Paquita  -  -  What  Do  You  Spell  ? ' 

Slade  masked  his  treachery;  or,  perhaps,  it  is  more  exact  to 
say  that  he  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  fiction.  It  is  very  certain 
that  he  never  appeared  at  all.  Slade,  senior,  in  his  younger 
days  was  of  a  roving  disposition.  During  the  Mexican  War 
he  enlisted  in  the  army,  I  believe,  and  was  with  General 
Scott  in  Mexico.  He  learned  to  speak  the  Spanish  language, 
I  know;  and  that  might  explain  John  S.  Castle;  they 
actually  may  have  met  in  Mexico." 

"That  is  true;  it  may  be  merely  one  more  of  the  coin- 
cidences, signifying  nothing  at  all.  But  I  am  not  of  a  dispo- 
sition to  dismiss  them  thus."  He  fell  into  a  thoughtful 
silence,  from  which  he  roused  himself  presently  to  say : 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,  Miss  Fairchild, —  to  digress  a 
moment,  —  that  all  these  details  of  the  man  Castle,  and  the 
manner  in  which  his  name  was  utilized  by  the  elder  Slade, 
might  hide  some  sort  of  chicanery.  Everything  about  that 
old  mortgage  may  not  have  been  perfectly  straight  and 
aboveboard ;  and  if  that  is  the  case  —  why,  there  is  no  telling 
what  interest  may  be  due  you  out  of  the  property.  Some  of  it 
is  very  valuable  now,  and  the  matter  is  worth  looking  into." 

" Indeed ?"  returned  Charlotte,  without  interest.  "To 
find  a  fortune  for  us  would  be  a  strange  ending  of  a  search 
for  the  assassin  of  a  man  so  completely  a  stranger." 

"Oh,  I  merely  mentioned  it  as  a  result  of  my  delving 
into  musty  records.  I  do  not  wish  to  inspire  any  hopes  that 
may  be  disappointed." 

"Truly,"  with  more  warmth,  "I  thank  you.  My  lack 
of  enthusiasm  arose  from  the  impossibility  of  inspiring  any 
such  hope  at  all.  I  shall  tell  Clay,  though,  what  you  have 
just  told  me.  Should  we  be  entitled  to  any  such  interest, 
he  would  assuredly  exert  an  effort  to  regain  it." 

[227] 


The  Silver  Blade 

He  bowed  a  dismissal  of  the  topic. 

"  But  now,  Miss  Fairchild,  does  it  not  occur  to  you  as  a 
bit  remarkable  that  out  of  all  the  developments  not  one  cir- 
cumstance has  appeared  tending  to  throw  any  light  on  the 
mysterious  Paquita  ?  " 

Of  a  sudden  she  threw  the  back  of  one  slender  hand  to 
her  lips  —  obviously  a  characteristic  gesture;  her  look 
assumed  an  expression  of  startled  surprise.  Charlotte's 
customary  repose  of  manner  was  so  placid  that  the  invol- 
untary movement  was  doubly  impressive  and  significant. 

"Ah,"  said  Converse,  quietly,  "something  has  recurred 
to  you." 

"That  is  true,"  she  at  last  returned,  "and  perhaps  I 
should  not  have  mentioned  it.  But  you  certainly  have  en- 
listed my  sympathies,  even  though  I  might  have  no  personal 
interest  in  these  tragedies;  and  God  knows  I  am  anxious 
enough  to  see  Clay,  Mobley,  all  my  friends  freed  of  this 
wretched  nightmare.  What  struck  me  so  abruptly  was  this : 
ever  since  Joyce's  trip  to  Mexico,  and  the  presentation  of 
the  dagger  paper-knife  to  Mobley,  he  has  playfully  ad- 
dressed his  sister  as  'Paquita.'  I  had  forgotten  it;  but  the 
nickname  spread  among  her  intimates,  and  she  subscribed 
her  letters  to  them  usually  in  that  way.  The  name  appealed 
to  her,  and  I  suppose  I  have  notes  now  from  Joyce  signed 
'Paquita.'" 

"This  is  certainly  very  interesting,"  said  he  with  marked 
gravity;  and  Charlotte  continued  with  increased  animation: 

"  It  just  occurred  to  me  that  the  circumstance  may  have 
become  known  to  some  one  who  has  used  it  with  a  special 
significance,  at  present  unknown  to  you." 

"Possibly.     But  I  was  not  thinking  of  it  in  that  way." 
[228] 


;<Paquita--What  Do  You  Spell?1 

Although  she  waited,  he  vouchsafed  no  further  explana- 
tion. Instead,  he  remained,  for  possibly  a  minute,  in  quiet 
reflection ;  then  turning  to  Charlotte,  he  asked  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  way: 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  lay  your  hand  upon  any  of  those 
notes?  I  should  like  to  have  a  glimpse  of  Miss  Joyce's 
penmanship." 

She  brightened  as  at  a  sudden  pleasant  thought.  "If 
so,  they  are  in  my  escritoire.  Just  a  moment,  please." 
She  glided  into  the  house  and  returned  in  a  few  moments 
with  a  half-dozen  or  so  heavy,  cream-tinted  envelopes.  With- 
out comment  she  handed  them  to  Converse,  eyeing  him 
expectantly  as  he  took  up  one  at  random. 

It  was  inscribed,  "  Miss  Susan  Sunshine, "  —  evidently 
a  playful  sobriquet  designating  Charlotte,  —  and  a  bit  of 
violet-hued  wax  bore  the  Westbrook  crest.  He  merely 
glanced  at  the  legible  and  flowing  characters;  noted  that, 
as  it  bore  no  stamp,  it  had  obviously  been  delivered  by  pri- 
vate messenger,  and  then  shook  his  head.  "I  have  never 
seen  that  handwriting  before,"  was  his  only  spoken  obser- 
vation as  he  handed  the  parcel  back  to  Charlotte.  It  is 
impossible  that  she  could  have  imagined  the  feeling  of  antici- 
pation, almost  if  not  quite  anxious  in  its  intensity,  that  stirred 
within  him  in  the  face  of  the  rapidly  forming  pattern  into 
which  immediate  events  were  patently  shaping  themselves. 

But  the  curiosity  now  animating  her  had  not  yet  been 
satisfied.  "Look  at  this,"  she  persisted,  hastily  selecting 
another  envelope  from  the  lot.  "  I  have  read  of  marvellous 
feats  of  a  detective  reading  a  person's  entire  life  from  a  scrap 
of  that  person's  chirography.  I  have  a  curiosity  to  know 
what  you  make  of  this." 

[220] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"I  have  read  of  such  things,  too,"  with  a  little  laugh; 
"but  I  am  afraid  they  are  mostly  confined  to  fiction.  Still 
a  fragment  of  one's  handwriting  is  often  a  great  aid  in  — 
He  stopped,  and  his  brow  shot  into  a  pucker  as  his  glance 
fell  upon  the  envelope  now  in  his  hand.  "This  is  by  an- 
other hand,"  he  concluded,  sharply. 

"  You  are  correct;  yet  —  yet  — 

He  glanced  up  quickly,  giving  Charlotte  a  rapier- like 
look.  "  Miss  Westbrook  wrote  it  ? "  he  completed  her 
sentence. 

She  nodded  brightly. 

"  Then  she  is  —  He  searched  his  memory  for  a  word 
which  the  District  Attorney  had  suggested  to  him  on  a  simi- 
lar occasion;  and  as  Mr.  Mountjoy  supplied  it  then,  so  did 
Charlotte  now. 

"Ambidextrous,"  said  she.  "Her  left  hand  is  reserved 
for  the  '  Susan  Sunshine '  letters  and  all  such  whimsical  cor- 
respondence, while  this  last  is  her  individual  handwriting. 
Equal  facility  in  the  use  of  either  hand  is  a  hereditary  West- 
brook  trait." 

He  remained  still  so  long  that  she  began  to  manifest 
some  impatience.  "You  attach  no  importance  to  it,  do 
you  ?  "  she  asked  with  some  misgiving. 

He  did  not  respond  immediately.  Now  was  an  occasion 
when  his  ability  absolutely  to  conceal  all  feeling  could  serve 
him  admirably.  Looking  at  Charlotte  he  had  not  the  heart 
to  tell  her  that  she  was  innocently  supplying  such  serious 
connecting  links  to  the  chain  of  evidence  tightening  about  her 
beloved  friend.  While  the  handwriting  on  the  second  envel- 
ope in  no  wise  resembled  the  writing  on  the  charred  fragment 
of  the  "  Paquita  "  letter,  further  than  that  both  were  feminine, 

[  230  ] 


'Paquita--What  Do  You  Spell?' 

yet  that  circumstance  of  Joyce's  ambidexterity  —  how  por- 
tentous it  was! 

So,  when  he  finally  responded,  he  plunged  into  another 
phase  of  the  subject,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her  question. 

"Miss  Fairchild,"  briskly,  "I  must  progress  toward  the 
final  and  most  important  matter  which  I  came  here  to  present 
to  you,  and  again  I  take  occasion  to  warn  you  that  this  part 
of  my  recital  will  require  a  great  deal  of  your  fortitude. 
You  must  believe,  now,  that  I  have  worked  untiringly  — 
unceasingly  —  in  this  matter  ?  " 

"I  believe  that,  Mr.  Converse." 

"Very  good.  Now,  endeavor  not  only  to  keep  before 
you  what  I  have  already  told  you,  but  please  follow  me  as 
closely  as  you  can.  .  .  .  First,  however,  assure  me  upon  one 
point,  though  it  may  seem  inconsequential  and  even  presum- 
ing in  me  to  speak  of  it;  but  before  I  am  done  you  will  under- 
stand. Is  there  any  attachment  between  your  brother  and 
Miss  Westbrook  ?  " 

She  regarded  him  with  serious  eyes. 

"Mr.  Converse,"  she  began,  with  a  sudden  assumption 
of  reserve  and  restraint,  "  that  is  a  very  delicate  and,  to  me, 
sacred  matter;  but  I  —  "  She  checked  herself,  and  once 
more  regarded  him  gravely;  her  manner  quickly  changed, 
and  again  she  became  frank  and  open.  "I  do  not  believe 
you  would  ask  it  were  it  not  important  that  I  answer  you 
frankly.  Never  have  Clay  and  I  exchanged  a  word  upon 
the  subject;  but  I  am  a  woman  —  his  sister  —  and  I  love 
him  dearly;  I  see  a  great  deal  more  than  he  would  ever 
suspect.  Mr.  Converse,  please  respect  this  confidence:  I 
believe  there  has  never  been  a  time  when  Clay  did  not  love 
Joyce,  dear,  darling,  beautiful  girl  that  she  is.  As  for  her, 

[231] 


The  Silver  Blade 

I  do  not  know.  She  has  a  warm  attachment  for  Clay;  she 
admires  him;  still,  she  is  so  young  —  her  life  has  been  so 
gay  and  light-hearted,  so  entirely  free  from  any  care  and 
responsibility  —  that  it  is  pleasant  to  think  no  strong  emo- 
tion has  yet  laid  its  touch  upon  her  heart.  To  her,  Clay 
has  been  a  playmate,  a  loved  comrade,  a  friend ;  whether 
he  is  destined  ever  to  be  more,  I  cannot  say.  But  I  believe 
I  have  told  you  the  exact  status  of  their  intimacy,  for  it  has 
occupied  my  thoughts  often,  often,  often." 

'This  confidence  has  not  injured  your  brother;  and  you 
have  my  word  of  honor  that  it  is  as  sacred  with  me  as  with 
yourself." 

"That  will  do;  I  can  now  hear  anything  you  have  to  tell 
me." 

He  paused  a  moment.  He  knew  he  must  hurt  her,  how- 
ever carefully  he  might  unfold  the  intelligence  he  had  come 
to  convey,  and  so  why  prolong  the  anxiety  by  trying  to 
temper  it  ?  So  he  said,  slowly,  deliberately : 

"  Miss  Fairchild,  the  one  person  that  we  have  so  far  been 
unable  to  account  for,  to  whom  we  must  look  for  the  ex- 
planation of  these  crimes  is  —  a  woman." 

A  slight  gasp  from  his  hearer  caused  him  to  pause  again. 
Briefly  he  gauged  her  strength. 

"That  woman  was  alone  with  your  brother  about  the 
time  of  De  Sanchez's  death.  In  short,  the  assassin  could 
have  been  no  place  but  in  Mr.  Nettleton's  office;  and  no 
one  was  there  besides  those  two." 

"Merciful  God!    Clay!" 

"  Wait !  "  hastily.  "  Your  brother  is  innocent  —  I  am 
sure  of  that  —  but  the  woman  — 

Charlotte  sat  quivering  as  if  with  an  ague,  deadly  white. 
[232] 


'Paquita--What  Do  You  Spell?' 

"  Who  ?  —  who  ?  "  she  gasped,  huskily,  when  he  paused. 

"The  facts  all  say  —  Joyce  Westbrook." 

"Oh,  don't  —  don't!"  She  arose  and  stood  unsteadily 
confronting  him.  "  I  can't  —  I  will  not  listen  to  this.  It  is 
abominable.  You  have  stumbled  into  some  terrible  error 
that  may  be  explained.  Why,  Mr.  Converse,  this  will  kill 
Joyce.  Oh,  how  horrible!  how  horrible!" 

"Error?  "  said  he,  with  extraordinary  gentleness.  "Ah, 
Miss  Fairchild,  I  hate  to  pain  you  so,  but  somebody  must 
be  stirred  to  action.  I  cannot  reach  to  the  Doctor's  or  his 
sister's  sensibilities  in  their  morbid  state  of  mind;  and  if 
she  will  not  unlock  her  lips,  I  cannot  speak  of  the  result. 
Error?  I  admit  its  possibility.  I  spent  an  exceedingly 
bad  half-hour  this  morning  trying  to  persuade  Doctor  West- 
brook  and  Miss  Joyce  that  I  was  more  than  willing  to  meet 
them  on  this  ground.  But  no.  If  I  have,  as  you  say, 
stumbled  into  a  bog  of  error,  they  left  me  to  get  back  to 
terra  firma  again  as  best  I  could.  If  we  can  agree  upon  this 
point,  we  have  an  excellent  position  from  which  to  operate; 
and  for  the  young  lady's  sake  I  would  so  agree." 

"Mr.  Converse,  Mr.  Converse,"  moaned  Charlotte,  as 
if  a  mortal  physical  wound  had  been  dealt  her.  "Wait! 
I  can't  bear  it!  The  idea  is  so  hideous  —  so  monstrous  —  " 

"  With  all  respect,  dear  lady,  I  sincerely  hope  that  she  is 
the  victim  of  an  extraordinary  concurrence  of  circumstances 
—  and  no  more.  But  her  position  is  even  far  more  desper- 
ate and  dangerous  than  you  could  possibly  imagine." 

Charlotte  sat  down  again,  and  quietly  —  very  quietly  — 
watched  her  interlocutor.  She  appeared  stunned.  Pres- 
ently she  asked  with  bated  breath : 

"  What  will  happen  ?  My  God !  do  you  wish  to  lead  me 
[833] 


The  Silver  Blade 

to  answering  your  unanswered  question  ?  Do  you  wish  me 
to  say  that  Paquita  —  oh,  that  wretched  name !  —  spells  dis- 
aster for  those  that  are  dearest  to  me  ?  "  She  uttered  a 
laugh  of  bitterest  scorn.  "If  my  loyalty  amounted  to  no 
more  than  that,"  with  a  slight  emphatic  gesture  of  one 
clenched  hand,  "I  would  be  the  most  despicable  creature 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Now  — 

"I  am  not  responsible  for  the  existing  condition,  Miss 
Fairchild;  I  only  want  to  convince  you  of  the  extreme 
urgency  of  the  situation.  I  have  told  you  a  friend  was  in 
trouble,  and  that  you  would  have  an  opportunity  to  succor 
that  friend;  but  it  is  more  than  a  trouble;  that  friend  is 
menaced  by  the  gravest  peril  imaginable." 

Rapidly  he  laid  before  her,  one  by  one,  his  reasons  for 
suspecting  Joyce  Westbrook;  and  as  his  hearer  saw  how 
deadly  serious  the  cumulative  facts  were,  she  gradually  grew 
outwardly  composed,  yielding  no  hint  of  how  his  words  were 
impressing  her. 

Next  he  told  of  Joyce's  movements  the  preceding  night, 
concluding : 

"And  now,  Miss  Fairchild,  the  most  damaging  feature 
against  her  is  her  refusal  to  deny  or  admit  anything  at  all. 
I  need  only  an  eye-witness  who  saw  her  in  or  about  the  Net- 
tleton  Building,  and  -  A  grim  tightening  of  his  hard- 
featured  face  put  a  sufficiently  obvious  period  to  the  thought. 

"  Mobley  must  tell  me  what  he  knows,"  she  said  presently, 
her  voice  trembling.  "I  do  not  promise  to  repeat  it,  for  I 
am  ignorant  of  its  nature;  but  if  I  can  see  in  this  secret  the 
way  to  finding  light  upon  the  deed  of  which  it  is  a  child, 
you  shall  know."  She  fairly  startled  the  Captain  by  spring- 
ing from  her  seat  and  grasping  his  arm.  Some  sudden 

[234] 


'Paquita--What  Do  You  Spell?' 

joyous  thought  had  evidently  flooded  her  intelligence,  and 
her  manner  imparted  its  quickening  impulse  to  him. 

"  Mr.  Converse  —  where  you  are  wrong  —  your  error  —  " 
she  cried,  in  disjointed  phrases.  "  Why  did  you  never  think 
of  it?  Joyce  was  not  in  the  Nettleton  Building  that  day. 
The  —  " 

"But,  my  dear  lady—  "  he  sought  to  interrupt;  but  her 
new-born  enthusiasm  bore  him  down. 

"  The  fact  that  no  one  can  be  found  who  saw  her  —  why, 
she  was  not  there.  She  is  involved  in  something  else  of  a 
very  personal  nature,  and  she  shrinks  from  explaining. 
That  must  be  it." 

Converse's  attitude  was  very  dubious. 

"  You  say  you  have  no  eye-witness  —  no  one  who  actually 
saw  her?  "  she  persisted. 

"Yes— that  is  true;  but  —  "  He  stopped.  "Wait, 
please,"  he  concluded  in  an  altered  tone,  as  he  suddenly 
recognized  Mr.  Follett's  servant,  Joe,  approaching  from 
the  trolley-line.  "  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  here  comes  a  mes- 
senger for  me." 


235 


CHAPTER  IV 

MISS  CHARLOTTE  BECOMES  A  FACTOR 

THAT  Joe's  errand  had  carried  him  to  the  Westbrook 
home  in  search  of  the  Captain,  and  thence  to  the  cot- 
tage, could  signify  only  a  matter  of  the  utmost  emer- 
gency ;  so  Converse  watched  his  approach  with  some  curiosity, 
wondering  why  his  friend,  Mr.  Follett,  should  be  in  such  haste 
to   find   him.     He  thought   of  the   advertisement   seeking 
information  concerning  the  unknown  woman. 

The  negro  approached  and  handed  him  a  much-soiled 
envelope;  and  this  is  what  he  read: 

Slade  was  here  this  A.  M.  Claims  to  have  seen  and  recog- 
nized woman  in  Nettleton  Bldg.  at  time  of  De  S.  murder. 
Holds  out  for  more  money,  so  be  careful.  He  is  up  to  some 
game ;  but  I  think  he  really  knows. 

It  was  indeed  from  Abram,  and  had  been  hurriedly 
penned  at  No.  18  Ash  Lane. 

After  the  message  was  delivered,  and  while  it  was  being 
read,  Charlotte  noted  that  it  had  the  effect  of  producing  a 
peculiar  change  in  the  countenance  of  the  reader:  his  mouth 
puckered,  as  if  for  a  whistle,  though  none  was  emitted ;  while 
his  right  eyebrow  lifted  in  a  manner  that  left  a  queer,  quiz- 
zical expression  on  his  weather-beaten  visage. 

He  pocketed  the  missive  without  comment;  scratched  a 
word  of  acknowledgment  on  the  envelope,  which  he  handed 
to  Joe  —  temporarily  an  ebon-hued  Mercury  —  with  an 
injunction  to  return  at  once  to  Mr.  Follett. 

[286] 


Miss  Charlotte  Becomes  a  Factor 

For  a  time  he  sat  in  a  silence  that  was  pensive,  even  though 
his  inflexible  frame  and  countenance  were  not.  How  strange 
that  the  message  should  come  to  hand  just  at  this  juncture! 
—  at  the  moment  when  he  was  obliged  to  admit  the  absence 
of  a  witness  that  had  seen  the  woman.  And  that  witness 
Slade!  Was  Joyce  Westbrook  the  woman?  There  was 
that  in  the  bare  fact  of  Slade's  being  the  person  who  was 
possessed  of  this  knowledge  which  made  the  Captain  feel 
that  the  coil  was  tightening  irresistibly  about  the  girl,  for  he 
was  beginning  to  acquire  his  own  idea  as  to  what  "  Slade's 
Blessing"  might  signify;  an  idea  utterly  different  from  the 
more  universal  one.  But  he  would  say  nothing  further  to 
harrow  this  much  troubled  lady  beside  him.  After  a  while 
he  turned  to  Charlotte  with  some  abruptness. 

"Now  then,  Miss  Fairchild,  you  pretty  well  understand 
the  status  of  both  the  cases.  The  main  thing  is,  now,  do 
you  " —  he  emphasized  the  pronoun  — "  appreciate  the  seri- 
ousness of  Miss  Westbrook's  position  ?  If  you  do  not,  if 
this  hour  spent  with  you  is  barren  of  results,  I  shall  be 
obliged  openly  to  take  her  into  custody,  put  Mr.  Mountjoy 
in  possession  of  the  case,  and  let  the  law  take  its  course. 
If  I  do  not,  some  one  else  will.  I  dislike  being  so  blunt,  but 
these  issues  must  be  met  squarely." 

"I  cannot  be  further  shocked,  Mr.  Converse.  I  will 
do  all  that  lies  in  my  humble  power.  If  Joyce  was  in  the 
Nettleton  Building  that  afternoon,  it  had  been  far  better 
for  Mobley  to  have  announced  it  at  once,  whatever  the 
result  might  have  been." 

Her  hearer  considerately  refrained  from  again  mention- 
ing the  possible  reason  for  silence.  Instead  he  said : 

"You  are  now  prepared  to  hear  the  main  object  of  my 
[  237  1 


The  Silver  Blade 

call.  The  early  part  of  last  night  I  spent  in  going  carefully 
over  all  that  I  have  set  before  you,  but  more  particularly  as 
it  concerns  your  brother's  disappearance.  It  has  become 
plain  that,  whatever  our  attempts  to  locate  him  may  have 
failed  in,  they  have  at  least  proved  one  thing  —  that  he 
never  left  the  city.  Who  should  know  better  where  he  is 
than  his  sister  ?  " 

"Believe  me,  Mr.  Converse,"  she  began  quickly;  but  he 
held  up  a  restraining  hand. 

"Wait,"  said  he.  "Let  me  finish.  This  is  when  I  re- 
solved to  bully  and  frighten  you  —  to  get  the  information 
from  you  willy-nilly,  —  and  behold  to  what  that  resolution 
has  come!  Now,  I  am  not  going  to  embarrass  you  at  this 
time  by  asking  you  where  Mr.  Clay  is,  or  even  if  you  know 
where  he  is;  but  I  do  expect  that  by  to-morrow  night,"  he 
gave  her  a  look  full  of  meaning,  and  repeated,  "  that  by  to- 
morrow night,  Miss  Fairchild,  some  result  will  come  from 
this  interview;  either  that  I  shall  hear  from  your  brother, 
Doctor  Westbrook,  Miss  Joyce,  or  all  of  them." 

"  What  I  started  to  say  when  you  interrupted  me  is,  that 
I  do  not  know  where  Clay  is.  There  is  where  I  have  been 
kept  in  ignorance." 

"The  reason  being,"  he  added,  "that  something  very 
like  this  interview  was  foreseen  —  not  because  you  could  n't 
be  trusted  —  no,  no :  it  was  to  spare  you  from  ever  being 
obliged  to  refuse  divulging  your  knowledge.  Knowing  of 
his  whereabouts,  you  could  never  have  met  an  examination, 
such  as  you  might  have  been  subjected  to,  with  a  plea  of 
ignorance." 

"I  can  only  act  as  you  have  suggested,"  she  returned; 
"and  I  will  make  my  arrangements  accordingly  as  soon  as 

[238] 


Miss  Charlotte  Becomes  a  Factor 

I  possibly  can.  While  Clay  is  absent  it  is  very  inconvenient 
communicating  with  the  city." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  convey  any  message  you  \vish  to  send." 

"  Thank  you.  It  is  Doctor  Westbrook  that  I  wish  to  see. 
I  sent  him  word  this  morning  regarding  mamma's  illness; 
but  I  expect  now  that  he  will  not  come  —  soon." 

"Well,  Miss  Fairchild,"  the  Captain  arose  briskly,  "I 
have  accomplished  my  errand,  and  if  nothing  else  ever  comes 
of  it,  I  shall  always  retain  a  delightful  remembrance  of  these 
flowers.  I  shall  call  here  again  Thursday  morning  early  — 
that  is,  if  I  have  to  come  to  you  for  results.  That  will  be 
day  after  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  make  no  open  move  until 
after  I  have  seen  you.  Now  write  your  note,  and  I  will 
see  that  the  Doctor  gets  it.  I  shall  wait  in  the  garden." 

When,  after  a  few  minutes,  she  reappeared  and  handed 
him  the  envelope,  he  said,  as  if  the  matter  had  just  occurred 
to  him : 

"  By  the  way,  Miss  Fairchild,  when  I  first  mentioned  last 
night's  affair  a  while  back,  you  spoke  of  William  Slade: 
why?" 

Immediately  she  became  grave  and  thoughtful. 

"  Because,"  after  an  appreciable  pause,  "  he  called  here  last 
night  to  see  my  mother,  and  his  visit  had  to  do  with  General 
Westbrook."  She  stopped  in  sudden  alarm  at  an  abrupt 
change  in  the  Captain's  manner.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  response  was  a  string  of  ejaculations. 

"  Slade !  —  Here !  —  General  Westbrook ! "  he  cried  in 
utter  astonishment. 

Charlotte  was  startled  at  this  surprising  manifestation  of 
interest. 

"It  is  very  remarkable,"  she  presently  resumed,  "and  I 
[239] 


The  Silver  Blade 

cannot  in  the  least  understand  what  it  means.  That  it  was 
extraordinarily  serious,  mamma's  condition  this  morning 
testifies  to.  Does  the  circumstance  tell  you  anything  ?  " 

The  detective  was  regarding  her  in  a  most  peculiar  man- 
ner. His  expression  seemed  to  say  that  nothing  in  the 
whole  gamut  of  possible  disclosures  touching  upon  the  two 
mysteries  could  take  him  more  unawares  than  this  simple 
statement  of  Charlotte's ;  but  she  had  by  no  means  told  him 
all,  and  his  face  at  once  became  impassive  again. 

"Please  finish,"  said  he,  quite  calmly;  "I  don't  know  - 

yet." 

She  obeyed,  narrating  at  length  her  experience  of  the 
preceding  night.  He  listened  with  attentive  silence  until  the 
burning  of  the  papers  was  mentioned.  The  look  of  the  gray 
eyes  brought  something  like  consternation  to  Charlotte. 

"  Miss  Fairchild ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  it  was  very,  very  wrong,"  she  cried,  sorely 
troubled  at  his  obvious  dismay;  "but  what  could  I  do? 
Mamma  was  not  herself;  she  wanted  me  to  swear  that  I 
would  not  even  look  at  them  —  to  burn  them  instantly. 
She  was  so  excited  —  " 

"  Never  mind  —  never  mind,"  he  broke  in  with  a  re- 
assurance he  did  not  in  the  least  feel ;  "  don't  distress  your- 
self. I  see  —  I  will  take  it  for  granted  that  you  could  not 
have  done  otherwise  than  you  did ;  that  your  excellent  com- 
mon sense  bade  you  pause  — 

"Indeed,  indeed,  that  is  true,"  fervently. 

"You  had  no  alternative,  and  I  will  not  blame  you; 
but  —  "  and  his  mouth  closed  grimly. 

"  'It  is  unfortunate,  nevertheless,'  you  would  say.  Is 
the  loss  irreparable  ?  " 

[240] 


Miss  Charlotte  Becomes  a  Factor 

"How  can  I  tell  now?  But  you  must  appreciate  the 
importance  of  those  papers  in  the  light  of  what  occurred 
after  Slade's  call.  ...  By  the  way,  what  time  did  he  de- 
part?" 

"  About  half-past  nine  or  ten  o'clock.  .  .  .  And  to  think, 
had  I  disobeyed  mamma,  I  might  have  averted  — "  She 
shuddered  and  did  not  finish. 

The  Captain  made  no  response.  The  subject  afforded 
too  wide  a  field  for  speculation  to  indulge  idly  in  probabil- 
ities. The  papers  being  irretrievably  gone,  the  salient  facts 
upon  which  his  mind  fastened  were,  that  Slade  had  some 
knowledge  that  the  General's  life  was  threatened,  and  for  some 
reason  —  another  mystery  in  a  veritable  network  of  mys- 
teries —  he  had  imparted  the  intelligence  to  Mrs.  Fairchild. 
But  why  ?  —  why,  of  all  persons,  to  her  ?  Mr.  Slade  had 
at  last  assumed  a  position  that  was  susceptible  of  scrutiny. 

After  a  number  of  questions,  to  which  Charlotte  could 
return  no  satisfactory  replies,  Converse  said : 

"  If  it  is  possible,  I  must  see  your  mother  as  soon  as  she 
is  able  to  bear  the  strain  of  an  unpleasant  interview.  Try 
to  prepare  her  against  my  next  coming,  Miss  Fairchild." 

Charlotte  promised  to  do  her  best. 

The  talk  was  broken  in  upon  by  an  abrupt  change  in  her 
countenance.  All  at  once  she  became  beautiful;  a  warm 
tide  of  color  mounted  to  her  cheeks;  her  head  became  re- 
gally erect;  and  she  shot  a  look  down  the  pergola  of  locusts 
and  elms  that  lined  the  roadway,  such  as  an  eagle  might 
flash  from  one  mountain-peak  to  her  mate  upon  another. 
Instinctively  Mr.  Converse  turned  and  descried  in  the  dis- 
tance an  approaching  horse  and  buggy.  So  the  Doctor 
was  obeying  her  first  summons,  after  all.  The  Captain 

[241] 


The  Silver  Blade 

handed  the  note  back  to  Charlotte,  and  at  once  took  his 
departure. 

When  the  Doctor  drove  up  to  the  gate,  Mr.  Converse, 
moving  with  long,  rapid  strides,  was  well  on  his  way  across 
the  common  to  the  car,  and  feeling  (if  his  unemotional  nature 
would  admit  the  charge)  more  than  a  little  depressed. 

Before  Doctor  Westbrook  arrived  at  the  porch  steps,  he 
noted  the  look  of  tenderness  with  which  he  was  being  re- 
garded, and  halted  abruptly. 

"  You  have  heard,  then  ?  "  said  he. 

"Yes,"  Charlotte  softly  replied,  holding  forth  both  her 
hands. 

With  pleased  eagerness  he  took  them  into  his  own  and 
gazed  hungrily  into  the  beautiful  eyes.  Her  demonstrations 
were  unusual,  and  he  found  therein  more  relief  from  his 
grief  and  anxiety  than  could  have  been  contained  in  any 
spoken  homily.  But  he  drank  from  those  liquid  pools  of 
truth  and  steadfastness  as  one  who  drinks  for  the  last  time. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  so;  then  — 

"Your  note  said  that  your  mother  was  suffering,"  he 
remarked,  walking  toward  the  open  door.  But  Charlotte 
checked  his  movement. 

"Wait,  Mobley.  I  was  not  very  exact.  Mamma  sus- 
tained a  severe  shock  last  night;  but  she  has  been  sleeping 
all  the  morning.  .  .  .  Before  you  go  in  I  wish  to  ask  you  a 
question." 

He  evinced  some  surprise  at  her  constraint. 

"  Mobley,  have  you  any  reason  to  believe  that  a  particular 
person  was  instrumental  in  the  death  of  Alberto  de  Sanchez  ?  " 

Amazement  grew  in  his  countenance. 
[242] 


Miss  Charlotte  Becomes  a  Factor 

"  Have  I  any  reason  —  "  he  repeated,  blankly.  "  I  don't 
understand;  who  has  been  talking  to  you?"  But  light 
suddenly  broke,  and  he  concluded :  "  So  that  was  that  con- 
founded detective  fellow  who  just  left  here." 

"Mobley,  you  are  unjust."  It  was  quite  plain  to  her 
why  he  should  think  with  irritation  of  Mr.  Converse.  "Al- 
though a  stranger,  he  has  treated  me  fairer  than  you  have: 
he  has  given  me  his  confidence." 

The  Doctor's  eyes,  yielding  a  sudden  light  of  apprehension, 
became  glued  to  Charlotte's;  but  he  remained  silent. 

"  I  know  you  have  been  terribly  troubled,"  she  went  on, 
evenly;  "but  have  you  been  afraid  of  me,  Mobley?" 

"My  God,  Charlotte,  no!  I  have  simply  wanted  to  spare 
you.  There  has  been  no  reason  why  you  should  be  drawn 
into  this  damnable  mess,  nor  is  there  any  more  reason  now. 
That  man  will  have  to  answer  to  me  for  this." 

"  No,  no,  he  will  not,  Mobley.  I  believe  he  has  told  the 
truth.  I  think  that  Joyce  —  oh,  poor,  darling  girl,  how  my 
heart  bleeds  for  her! — I  think  that  innocent  dear  is  the 
victim  of  the  most  diabolical  set  of  circumstances  I  ever 
heard  of.  They  will  inevitably  ruin  her  if  she  is  not  freed 
from  them ;  and  if  it  lies  within  our  power  to  do  so  —  do 
you  hear  me,  Mobley  ?  —  if  it  lies  within  our  power  to  do  so, 
we  must  find  a  way." 

"  Dear,  dear  girl,"  he  groaned.  "  If  I  had  told  him  this 
morn  —  " 

But  she  calmly  interrupted  him. 

"You  must  drive  down  to  Mrs.  Florian's  and  bring  her 
here  in  your  buggy;  I  am  going  home  with  you.  Your 
entire  course  in  this  matter  has  been  wrong," — firmly. 
"  Joyce  is  innocent,  of  course,  and 'the  truth  can't  hurt." 

[2431 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  But  you  don't  know,"  he  still  persisted. 

"No;  that  is  very  true,"  she  returned,  looking  steadily 
at  him;  " but  I  will  shortly.  .  .  .  Come  —  let  us  go  in  now." 
And  together  they  entered  the  house. 

At  once  the  condition  of  the  sorely  stricken  mother  drove 
everything  else  temporarily  from  their  minds.  John  Con- 
verse nor  any  other  person  would  ever  again  hear  a  sound 
issue  from  those  moveless  lips. 

So  another  door  was  closed. 


[244] 


CHAPTER  V 

A  DECISION  AND  A  LETTER 

IF  Mr.  Converse  departed  from  the  cottage  with  a  feeling 
of  depression,  it  was  based,  as  we  know,  upon  a  formi- 
dable number  of  reasons.  If  the  sensation  was  incom- 
patible with  his  profession,  it  at  least  proved  that,  as  a  human 
being,  he  was  not  so  utterly  devoid  of  feeling  as  his  grim 
exterior  continually  indicated;  and  when  the  irresistible 
logic  of  the  present  investigation  singled  out  again  and 
again  a  beautiful  girl  as  the  author  of  a  monstrous  assas- 
sination; when  the  amorphous  figure  of  Paquita  —  that 
featureless,  shadowy  phantom  —  presented  itself  between 
his  mental  vision  and  Joyce  Westbrook  —  it  was  with  a  sense 
of  relief  that  he  asked,  "Paquita,  what  do  you  spell?" 
There  was  always  the  hope  that  sooner  or  later  an  answer 
would  be  returned  clearing  Joyce  beyond  peradventure. 

That  he  did  not  consider  Fairchild  accessory  to  either 
crime  was  a  belief  resting  upon  a  very  sound  foundation  of 
reasoning,  although  such  a  conviction  must  needs  be  an 
additional  point  adverse  to  Joyce.  The  testimony  delivered 
by  Doctor  Westbrook  and  Mr.  Howe  of  Georgia  at  the  in- 
quest, relating  to  Fairchild's  strange  behavior  when  he 
beheld  the  body  of  De  Sanchez  lying  on  the  Doctor's  recep- 
tion room  floor,  and  a  careful  analysis  of  this  evidence  — 
although  it  certainly  left  the  young  man's  conduct  some- 
thing to  be  explained  —  would  not  admit  the  idea  of  a  guilty 
knowledge  on  his  part,  or  of  an  active  participation  in  the 

[245] 


The  Silver  Blade 

crime  itself.  Before  he  entered  the  reception-room  he  must 
have  known  that  the  Doctor  or  some  other  person  was  there, 
for  a  light  was  burning  brightly  therein;  that  the  deed  had 
been  discovered ;  and  it  was  certain  that  even  then  the  police 
were  on  their  way  thither,  if  they  had  not  already  arrived. 
Yet  he  entered  the  office  unhesitatingly.  Again,  no  powerful 
emotions  were  betrayed  by  him  until  after  he  had  seen  the 
body,  and  then  his  first  change  of  expression  betokened 
surprise  and  bewilderment.  The  rapidly  succeeding  horror 
and  terror  were  present  while  he  was  looking  at  Doctor 
Westbrook,  and  not  at  the  body.  "I  was  quite  as  much 
astonished  by  his  behavior,"  was  Mr.  Howe's  testimony 
hereof,  "  as  by  anything  that  had  happened  before.  .  .  .  The 
mere  sight  of  the  body  did  not,  to  my  mind,  account  for  the 
extremity  of  emotion  depicted  on  his  countenance,  which 
seemed  completely  to  overwhelm  him."  There  was  a 
quality  about  the  look  with  which  he  regarded  Doctor  West- 
brook  so  dreadful  that  it  spurred  the  Doctor  from  his  own 
preoccupying  excitement  and  agitation  to  demand  an  ex- 
planation. 

Did  Clay  Fairchild,  puzzled  over  Miss  Joyce's  excited 
and  unexpected  appearance,  go  to  Doctor  Westbrook's 
office  seeking  enlightenment,  and  were  his  unspoken  questions 
there  answered  by  the  dead  body  of  Alberto  de  Sanchez  ? 

And  now  there  was  a  witness  who  could  establish  the 
identity  of  the  unknown  woman. 

Possibly  the  last  consideration  had  as  much  weight  in 
influencing  Mr.  Converse  to  a  decision  which  he  made 
while  riding  back  to  the  city,  as  the  reasons  therefor  which 
he  gave  in  his  own  mind;  but,  trifling  as  that  decision  may 
appear  to  be,  it  was  destined  to  entail  consequences  of  the 

[246] 


A  Decision  and  a  Letter 

utmost  moment  —  it  was  the  thread-like  fissure  in  the  dam. 
He  shrank  from  hearing  Joyce  Westbrook's  name  on  the 
lips  of  Slade;  but  yet,  if  that  individual  was  possessed  of 
such  important  evidence,  it  was  clearly  the  Captain's  duty 
to  secure  it  as  early  as  possible.  However,  he  was  begin- 
ning to  feel  acutely  the  need  of  both  rest  and  nourishment; 
he  realized,  what  with  his  own  infirmity  of  speech  and  the 
other's  deafness,  the  difficulties  that  would  arise  in  the 
course  of  an  interview  with  the  abstracter;  therefore  he 
would  defer  his  call  until  he  had  snatched  a  few  hours' 
sleep,  and  could  secure  the  aid  of  McCaleb  to  act  as  his 
mouthpiece. 

He  was  ignorant  alike  of  Merkel's  ambition  to  engineer 
a  coup,  and  the  motives  controlling  the  crusty  Mr.  Slade. 
Otherwise  it  is  more  than  likely,  after  he  received  Mr. 
Follett's  message,  that  he  would  have  repaired  with  all 
haste  to  the  offices  of  the  Guaranty  Abstract  Company, 
instead  of  first  eating  a  substantial  breakfast,  and  afterward 
of  composing  his  immense  frame  upon  a  certain  leathern 
couch  which  formed  a  part  of  his  office  furniture  at  head- 
quarters. 

But  such  was  the  nature  of  his  decision;  and  when  he 
awoke  late  in  the  afternoon  no  earthly  power  could  have 
changed  the  result  of  his  procrastination. 

At  five  o'clock  Mr.  Converse  arose  from  his  leathern 
couch,  mentally  decided  to  glimpse  at  the  late  afternoon 
mail,  and  then  look  up  Mr.  Slade. 

But  the  mail  brought  one  letter  which,  even  before  he 
opened  it,  banished  all  thought  of  the  sour  abstracter  from 
his  mind.  The  envelope  bore  in  its  upper  left-hand  corner 
the  return  address  of  "  The  Guadalupe  Transportation  and 

[247] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Construction  Co.,"  and  had  been  postmarked  at  Monterey, 
Mexico. 

The  missive  was  very  long,  and  as  it  entered  into  a  num- 
ber of  matters  quite  foreign  to  this  narrative,  it  will  be  con- 
densed. It  purported  to  be  written  by  one  Morris  A.  King, 
now  a  civil  engineer  in  the  employ  of  a  Mexican  construction 
concern,  and  the  author  asserted  that  he  and  Clay  Fairchild 
had  been  schoolmates,  and  that  a  warm  friendship  yet  existed 
between  them.  The  letter  ran : 

"  My  parents  reside  in  New  York  and  on  the  first  of  last 
October  I  had  leave  of  absence  to  pay  them  a  visit.  On  my 
return  I  shortened  that  visit  by  a  day  in  order  to  surprise 
Clay,  and  I  stopped  with  him  two  or  three  hours  on  No- 
vember fourth."  Here  the  reader's  interest  suddenly  quick- 
ened. "  The  mysterious  sketch  of  the  dagger  mentioned  by 
the  papers  was  made  on  that  day  solely  for  my  benefit." 

The  writer  went  on  to  say  that  Clay  had  confided  his 
literary  ambitions  to  his  friend,  and  that  the  latter  had  urged 
him  to  come  with  him  to  Mexico,  "  the  land  of  romance,  love, 
fighting,  tinkling  guitars,  and  sloe-eyed  senoritas."  He 
held  out  many  inducements  to  Fairchild  in  the  way  of  material 
for  stories;  but  the  young  man  persisted  in  his  inability  to 
accept  the  invitation. 

One  of  the  plots  suggested  was  indeed  extraordinary. 
The  letter  went  on : 

"The  heroine  of  my  yarn  was  a  certain  Paquita.  Does 
that  strain  your  credulity  ?  Well,  it 's  a  fact  which  you  may 
easily  verify  when  you  come  up  with  Clay.  In  my  veracious 
legend  Paquita  stabbed  herself  with  a  magnificent  jewelled 
dagger,  the  same  having  been  the  gift  of  a  false  lover. 
Could  it  have  been  your  '  Silver  Blade,'  I  wonder  ?  .  .  .  . 
I  had  this  story  from  a  certain  Ignacio  Monterde,  who  related 

[2481 


A  Decision  and  a  Letter 

it  as  a  fact.  He  was  once  under  me  in  a  construction  gang ; 
but  his  wife  came  into  some  money, —  according  to  his 
account,  as  a  reward  for  her  kind  offices  to  Paquita  during 
a  time  of  stress  and  vicissitude." 

Then  followed  Monterde's  address,  and  the  assertion 
that  the  story  had  held  Fairchild  "  spellbound." 

Which  was  not  surprising,  considering  his  knowledge  of 
Doctor  Westbrook's  paper-knife.  Indeed,  Fairchild  seems  to 
have  mentioned  it  immediately  to  his  friend,  volunteering  to 
secure  it  for  the  purpose  of  confirming  his  statements  con- 
cerning its  existence.  The  weapon  could  not  be  found  in 
its  customary  place,  hence  the  sketch  as  an  effort  to  convey 
some  idea  of  its  appearance. 

The  writer  concluded  by  offering  to  appear  in  his  friend's 
behalf,  at  any  time,  should  the  exigencies  of  the  case  demand 
it  of  him. 

Mr.  Converse  laid  the  letter  to  one  side,  with  a  long- 
drawn  "Ah-h-h!"  expressive  of  extreme  satisfaction.  He 
carefully  made  a  note  of  Ignacio  Monterde's  address. 

After  the  unexpected  intelligence  had  been  properly  di- 
gested it  was  time  for  dinner;  Mr.  Slade  and  the  woman  he 
had  seen  could  very  well  wait  until  the  following  morning. 
Besides,  Mr.  Converse's  other  business  had  become  much  in 
arrears  during  the  past  few  days,  and  there  were  a  number 
of  matters  demanding  immediate  attention.  He  smiled 
grimly  as  he  turned  to  the  accumulation  of  letters  and  pa- 
pers on  his  desk,  and  mentally  contrasted  his  recent  anxiety 
to  run  this  same  mysterious  woman  down,  with  his  pres- 
ent dilatoriness  —  his  admitted  reluctance  to  hear  her  name 
from  the  lips  of  a  witness  whose  testimony  would  be  irre- 
futable. 

[249] 


The  Silver  Blade 

The  manner  in  which  the  name  of  Slade  wound  in  and 
out  of  this  maze,  indefinitely  and  apparently  without  cause 
or  purpose,  had  excited  Mr.  Converse's  attention  to  such  an 
extent  that  even  now  two  subordinates  were  burrowing  into 
the  abstracter's  past  in  an  effort  to  unearth  something  that 
might  clear  up  this  distracting  and  irritating  side-issue; 
but  their  efforts  had  been  abortive  in  so  far  as  the  results 
aimed  at  were  concerned,  although  —  as  he  had  informed 
Miss  Charlotte  —  a  number  of  seemingly  irrelevant  facts 
had  been  brought  to  light,  which  only  made  this  phase  more 
perplexing  than  ever.  And  now,  Mr.  Slade's  remarkable 
visit  to  the  Fairchild  cottage,  and  what  had  happened 
there,  were  only  added  knots  in  an  already  badly  tangled 
skein. 

He  next  rang  for  the  departmental  stenographer,  and  for 
two  hours  was  busy  dictating  letters  and  going  over  reports, 
with  an  energy  that  made  his  pale  young  amanuensis  marvel. 
But  as  the  Federal  Building  clock  began  to  toll  off  eight 
strokes,  he  noted  the  impatience  with  which  the  young  man 
consulted  his  watch. 

"  Julius,  you  are  tired,"  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way. 
"This  is  the  last  letter." 

It  was  not  to  be  written  that  night,  however.  His  state- 
ment was  punctuated  by  the  telephone  bell,  and,  shoving  the 
desk  instrument  toward  the  stenographer,  he  said : 

"Talk  for  me."  Without  such  aid,  he  was  shorn  of  this 
device's  convenience  in  long-distance  communication. 

The  stenographer  presently  announced  that  Mr.  Mc- 
Caleb  desired  to  talk  with  Captain  Converse. 

"  What  does  he  want  ?  "  sharply  demanded  the  latter. 

It  required  a  minute's  maltreatment  of  the  telephone  to 
[250] 


A  Decision  and  a  Letter 

elicit  the  further  information  that  Captain  Converse's  pres- 
ence at  the  Westbrook  home  was  urgently  desired. 

Wondering  much  what  this  summons  might  portend,  he 
donned  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  strode  forth  to  intercept 
a  street-car. 

At  the  same  time  Mr.  William  Slade,  wrapped  in  a  dingy 
and  much  frayed  dressing-gown,  with  a  ghoulish  light  of 
exultation  smouldering  in  his  mouse-like  eyes,  sat  in  his  dingy 
hole  of  a  room,  and  went  over  again  in  his  mind  a  recent 
conversation  between  himself  and  Mr.  Merkel.  What  he 
had  told  the  Coroner  that  evening  had  caused  the  worthy 
official  to  stare  in  speechless  amazement  —  a  feeling  which 
rapidly  grew  into  one  of  eminent  satisfaction  after  Mr.  Slade, 
with  much  precision  and  circumstantiality,  had  embodied 
his  statements  in  a  written  affidavit. 

So  Mr.  Slade  now  reviews  this  colloquy. 

"What's  twenty-five  dollars!"  he  mutters,  laughing 
noiselessly  and  without  mirth,  and  cracking  his  knuckly 
fingers.  "  What  is  any  money  to  this !  You  may  have  de- 
feated one  purpose,  my  dear;  but,  to  a  man  of  talent  and 
resource,  there  exist  an  infinite  variety  of  ways.  To  be  sure, 
what 's  twenty-five  dollars  to  this! "  And  he  glances  at  an 
open  paper  displayed  conspicuously  on  the  table. 

"GEN.   PEYTON  WESTBROOK  THE 
VICTIM  OF  AN  ASSASSIN.'1 

By  the  feeble  illumination  of  the  candle  could  yet  be 
read,  in  letters  an  inch  high,  this  "scare  head"  extending 
across  the  entire  front  page. 


251 


CHAPTER  VI 

FAINT  RAYS  FROM  STRANGE  SOURCES 

MEANWHILE  the  Captain  narrowly  escaped  missing 
a  car,  and  as  he  ran  for  it  he  fancied  he  heard  a  news- 
boy crying  an  extra  edition  of  some  evening  paper. 
Idly  wondering  what  could  call  forth  an  additional  issue  so 
soon  after  the  regular  evening  edition,  he  took  his  seat,  and 
straightway  forgot  the  incident. 

His  cogitations  in  a  little  while  assumed  the  form  of  a 
resolution  to  avail  himself  of  the  present  opportunity  to  ask 
Mrs.  Westbrook  several  questions  which  had  been  restrained 
only  by  the  circumstances  of  her  bereavement.  He  dis- 
liked obtruding  himself  upon  her  privacy  at  such  a  time; 
but  he  felt  that,  since  the  morning,  she  had  had  occasion 
within  which  to  compose  herself  and  to  become  expectant 
of  the  entrance  of  the  police  into  the  tragedy  of  her  husband's 
death. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  Westbrook  home,  he  was  met  at  the 
wide  veranda  steps  by  McCaleb  himself. 

"Sorry  to  have  troubled  you,"  whispered  the  latter,  hur- 
riedly. "  I  will  tell  you  why  I  sent  as  soon  as  I  get  a  chance. 
But  wait;  if  my  reason  is  not  good,  Miss  Westbrook  gave 
me  one  that  is." 

McCaleb  paused.  He  seemed  with  only  indifferent  suc- 
cess to  be  curbing  an  inward  excitement,  and  his  manner 
lent  a  special  significance  to  his  next  words. 

"She  has  been  inquiring  for  you,"  he  added. 
[252] 


Faint  Rays  from  Strange  Sources 

Converse  did  not  appear  at  all  surprised;  but  knowing 
his  chief  as  he  did,  neither  did  McCaleb  seem  surprised  at 
the  reception  of  his  pregnant  announcement. 

"  Come  with  me ;  I  have  something  mighty  queer  to  show 
you."  And  after  word  of  the  Captain's  arrival  had  been 
sent  to  the  ladies,  McCaleb  led  the  way  around  to  one  side 
of  the  house,  coming  to  a  halt  in  the  dense  darkness  beneath 
the  porte-cochere. 

"  After  I  'phoned,  Miss  Westbrook  came  to  me  and  asked 
if  there  was  any  likelihood  of  your  coming  to  the  house  soon. 
She  was  a  good  deal  confused  and  embarrassed;  but  the 
question  so  stumped  me  —  after  what  happened  this 
morning,  you  know, —  that  I  forgot  my  good  manners,  and 
asked  her  '  Why  ?  '  But  she  replied  that  she  had  something 
to  tell  you  alone,  which  she  thought  you  would  be  glad  to 
hear  —  that  it  was  of  such  importance  that  you  would  doubt- 
less pardon  a  summons  to  come  at  once.  Then  I  told  her 
you  were  probably  on  your  way  here  now ;  and  with  that  she 
turned  away,  apparently  satisfied." 

McCaleb  caught  the  other's  arm  and  drew  him  onto  the 
lawn,  away  from  the  house  and  from  beneath  the  porte- 
cochere.  Again  lowering  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  he  said: 

"Look  up  at  those  two  windows,  there,  right  over  the 
roof  of  the  carriage-entrance." 

Converse  did  so,  and  noted  that  the  carriage-entrance 
roof  formed  a  balcony  upon  which  the  two  windows  gave,  and 
that  the  room  beyond  was  evidently  brightly  illuminated, 
for  faint  rays  of  light  found  their  way  through  minute  inter- 
stices in  the  curtains: 

"  Well  ?  "  he  queried  at  length. 

"That  is  Miss  Westbrook's  bedroom." 
[253] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  Yes  ?    And  what 's  queer  about  that  ?  " 

McCaleb  considered  a  minute. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  saw  her  at  that  window  to-night,  waving  a 
lighted  candle  about,  as  though  signalling  some  one." 

"  Ha!     Which  way  was  she  looking  —  up  —  down  ?  " 

"Straight  ahead,  sir, —  west.  She  seemed  to  be  looking 
at  or  trying  to  see  something  about  on  a  level  with  her  head." 

"On  a  level  with  her  head,  eh?  That  would  be  some- 
what above  our  own."  And  the  Captain  involuntarily  faced 
about  to  the  west.  Raising  his  eyes  to  an  approximate  level 
with  those  of  a  person  standing  at  the  window,  they  encoun- 
tered nothing  but  the  night  sky,  against  which  were  silhouetted 
in  dense  blackness  the  blended  outlines  of  trees  and  a  gable 
of  the  house  across  Tenth  Street.  All  sense  of  perspective  was 
lost.  And  surely  nothing  there  that  a  candle  might  aid  one 
in  seeing :  its  tiny  light  would  be  as  insignificant  —  if  the 
contrast  is  not  already  plain  —  as  a  dewdrop  in  the  crater  of 
Vesuvius.  Finally  he  brought  back  a  questioning  eye  to 
the  young  man's  sober  countenance. 

"It  was  queer,"  McCaleb  at  once  continued.  "But  I 
have  n't  told  you  the  queerest  part.  I  looked  around,  try- 
ing to  see  what  she  could  be  after  —  only  I  walked  about 
quite  a  bit;  but  I  saw  nothing  more  than  usual.  Every- 
thing was  perfectly  quiet;  no  one  even  passed  in  the  street 
all  the  time  I  was  waiting  here,  and  look  as  I  might,  I  saw 
no  one  to  whom  she  could  have  been  making  signals  —  not 
an  answering  light  anywhere." 

The  speaker  stopped  with  a  start.  A  sudden  accession 
of  light  caused  both  to  look  up,  and  Converse  perceived  the 
slight,  graceful  figure  of  Joyce  Westbrook  standing  by  one  of 
the  windows.  The  blind  was  now  raised,  and  all  the  \ight, 

[8541 


Faint  Rays  from  Strange  Sources 

in  an  electrolier  behind  the  girl  threw  a  flood  of  reflected 
radiance  upon  the  beautiful  countenance.  The  light  cast 
an  aureole  about  her  wealth  of  hair  —  ebon  tresses  which, 
if  unbound,  would  dissolve  into  the  fluent  blackness  of  night, 
like  water  into  water.  Either  by  a  trick  of  the  light,  or  in 
reality,  her  loveliness  was  so  etherealized  as  to  make  this 
motionless  apparition  positively  weird. 

At  last  she  turned  slowly  away  and  disappeared,  without 
drawing  down  the  shade.  A  disheartening  sense  of  depres- 
sion, such  as  he  had  experienced  after  leaving  Miss  Char- 
lotte, came  over  Converse  again,  while  the  detective  instinct 
was  uncompromisingly  alert  to  McCaleb's  words.  Whether 
the  vision  of  Joyce  evoked  any  such  feelings  in  the  younger 
man,  it  would  be  impossible  to  say;  his  hawk-like  gaze 
remained  riveted  upon  her  while  she  stood  at  the  window 
—  as  if  she  were  merely  an  enigma  hard  to  solve  —  and  as 
soon  as  she  was  gone,  he  resumed  speaking  in  unaltered  tones. 

"  The  incident  was  mighty  puzzling,  and  I  began  a  quiet, 
systematic  quizzing  of  the  servants,  with  an  idea  of  clearing 
up  this  side-mystery.  First,  I  got  from  Miss  Westbrook's 
woman  the  fact  that  her  mistress  had  for  a  week  or  two  left 
a  light  at  that  window  every  night.  Upon  being  pressed 
closer,  Melissa  told  me  the  light  was  first  placed  there  on 
the  night  of  Saturday,  the  seventh ;  that  it  was  always  at  that 
particular  window,  and  that  it  was  allowed  to  burn  all  night." 

"  Do  you  mean,  Mac,  that  of  those  two  windows  so  close 
together  the  light  is  never  by  any  chance  left  at  the  other  ?  " 

"That's  it,  sir;  it's  always  the  southernmost  window." 

"And  you  say  these  windows  can't  be  seen  from  the 
street  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  they  cannot." 

[255] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Very  good.  I  fancy  if  a  person  were  on  a  level  with 
that  window  when  the  candle-play  is  going  on,  he  could  see 
something  off  there  to  the  west  that  can't  be  seen  from  any 
other  point.  We  '11  have  to  know  what  it  means,  Mac, 
before  the  night  is  many  hours  older." 

As  he  entered  the  house  Converse  was  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  being  notified  by  Sam  that  Mrs.  Westbrook  would 
receive  him  at  his  convenience,  in  the  me  ^ing-room.  "The 
mother  instead  of  the  daughter ;  now,  what  does  that 
mean  ?  "  he  observed,  mentally.  He  reflected  that,  in  the 
whirl  of  events,  he  had  taken  but  small  account  of  this  lady. 
What  little  he  knew  of  her  —  merely  such  vague  reports  as 
may  come  to  one  of  any  individual's  personality  —  pictured 
for  him  a  cold,  selfish,  distant  woman,  indifferent  to  most 
matters  that  did  not  affect  her  directly ;  and  so  far  there  had 
been  no  occasion  for  giving  her  any  unusual  attention. 

Mrs.  Westbrook  was  a  tall,  stately  woman  of  a  superb 
figure.  Her  mere  physical  appearance,  the  unconscious 
ease  of  her  carriage,  the  uncompromising  uplift  of  her  head, 
were  all  remarkably  impressive ;  but  there  was  much  beyond 
this.  To  begin  with,  she  had  been  wonderfully  neglected 
by  Time.  One  might  fancy  that  the  hauteur  of  this  grande 
dame  was  as  discouraging  to  the  harbinger  of  immortality 
as  it  was  chilling  to  individuals  who  failed  in  any  of  the  many 
qualities  necessary  to  meet  her  full  approval.  Like  the 
General,  there  was  a  repellent  frigidity  in  her  customary 
glance,  and  her  clear,  almost  faultless  features  were  marred 
by  the  aptness  with  which  they  could  emphasize  scorn  or 
disdain  at  the  expense  of  an  ability  to  reflect  any  of  the  softer 
feelings.  If  she  had  ever  possessed  any  of  the  illusions 
common  to  girlhood,  they  had  been  dispelled  —  forgotten 

f  256  1 


Faint  Rays  from  Strange  Sources 

—  long,  long  since:  a  woman  temperamentally  beyond  the 
influence  of  the  smaller  courtesies  and  amenities  of  life,  it 
was  quite  patent  that  she  could  not  have  lived  that  life  more 
alone  had  it  been  cast  in  the  midst  of  a  desert  isle;  and  it 
was  difficult  to  imagine  her  so  shaken  from  her  aplomb  as 
McCaleb  and  Clancy  had  beheld  her  the  night  before. 
Perhaps  Time  had  indeed  passed  her  by  as  needing  none  of 
his  attentions. 

Years  ago  Louise  Shepardson  had  been  much  sought 
after  by  the  bachelor  gentry  of  her  circle.  There  existed  a 
strange  allurement  for  the  masculine  nature  in  her  statu- 
esque beauty,  an  enticing  incentive  to  kindle  it  into  flame ;  but 
the  Pygmalion  for  whom  this  lovely  Galatea  might  have 
quickened  into  life  never  appeared,  and  one  by  one  her  suitors 
retired  to  direct  their  ardor  along  paths  of  less  resistance. 

The  lady  was  standing  facing  the  door  when  Sam  ushered 
in  Mr.  Converse.  It  was  plain  from  her  attitude  that  she 
intended  to  remain  standing  throughout  the  coming  inter- 
view; that  she  expected  her  guest  to  do  likewise;  and  that 
the  interview  itself  was  to  be  very  short.  It  cannot  be  said 
that  the  Captain's  susceptibilities  were  particularly  sensi- 
tive; yet  he  felt  the  condescension  with  which  Mrs. 
Westbrook  received  him,  and  all  at  once  his  scruples  for  the 
intrusion  vanished.  He  bowed  low. 

"Madam,"  he  began,  his  impassive  features  as  free  from 
any  emotion  as  her  own,  "I  apologize  for  disturbing  you; 
I  have  postponed  the  matter  as  long  as  I  could ;  but  there  are 
some  ques  —  " 

She  interrupted  him  without  the  slightest  consideration, 
her  enunciation  deliberate  and  incisive. 

"  You  will  please  dispense  with  any  preamble,"  she  said, 
[257] 


The  Silver  Blade 

coldly.     "Ask  your  questions  as  briefly  and  concisely  as 
possible." 

He  did  not  hurry.  It  was  too  patent  that,  if  she  did  not 
choose  to  answer,  she  would  ignore  any  interrogation  he 
might  frame.  Abruptly  his  look  became  as  hard  as  flint, 
and  all  of  his  moving  personality  seemed  to  be  concentrated 
in  one  steady,  piercing  glance.  But  her  pale  eyes  continued 
to  meet  the  steely  gray  ones,  boldly,  and  as  inscrutable  as  the 
granite  orbs  of  a  sphinx.  Nobody  had  ever  seen  behind 
those  eyes. 

"Mrs.  Westbrook,"  he  presently  retorted,  his  manner 
calculating  and  unsympathetic,  "I  regret  that  you  meet  me 
in  this  spirit  of  antagonism.  You  are  making  a  difficult 
situation  infinitely  more  diffi  — 

She  started  to  interrupt. 

"Wait,  please!"  he  peremptorily  commanded.  He 
remained  silent  a  moment  with  his  gaze  fixed  squarely  upon 
her ;  then,  with  a  sternness  that  would  brook  no  trifling, 
continued:  "Out  of  a  common  courtesy  I  requested  this 
interview;  but  do  you  know,  Mrs.  Westbrook,  if  need  be  I 
could  enforce  it  ?  I  want  to  be  as  gentle  and  considerate  as 
it  is  possible  for  me  to  be,  but  my  patience  has  its  limits. 
I  will  choose  my  own  time  and  my  own  questions,  and  you 
will  refuse  to  answer  them  at  your  peril." 

She  shrank  from  him  as  if  he  had  struck  her  in  the  face. 

"  Allow  me  to  pass,"  she  demanded;  but  he  neither  moved 
nor  spoke.  In  a  moment  her  lip  curled  witheringly.  "  Am 
I  to  suppose  that  I  am  under  arrest  also  ?  " 

"If  you  insist  on  leaving  the  room,  yes,"  was  the  blunt 
answer.  She  threw  a  hand  to  her  throat  and  recoiled  another 
step,  overcome  with  a  blank,  horrified  amazement. 

[258] 


Faint  Rays  from  Strange  Sources 

"  Me ! "  she  gasped.     "  Arrest  me ! " 

All  at  once  she  broke  into  a  little  laugh  of  biting  contempt. 
"  Why,  I  believe  you  are  insane  —  irresponsible  —  that 
must  be  it.  That  is  the  only  way  to  explain  such  extraor- 
dinary conduct.  Now  you  will  please  step  aside,  and  al- 
low me  to  pass."  She  confronted  him  with  a  sudden  flash 
of  indignation  before  which  any  less  masterful  personality 
surely  would  have  quailed.  But  Converse  remained  quite 
undaunted.  His  response  was  to  produce  his  watch,  with 
some  ostentation,  and  stand  holding  it  in  his  hand. 

"  As  it  happens,"  said  he,  easily,  "  I  am  in  a  hurry  myself. 
I  shall  give  you  just  two  minutes  to  decide  whether  you  will 
remain  here  and  answer  a  few  questions,  or  answer  them  at 
the  police  station;  it  is  all  one  to  me." 

It  is  not  likely  that  he  was  exacting  about  the  time,  for 
more  than  two  minutes  elapsed  before  Mrs.  Westbrook  gave 
any  indication  that  she  was  not  turned  to  stone;  then  slowly 
her  rigidity  relaxed,  her  pale  eyes  fell  before  his,  a  spot 
of  color  glowed  on  either  cheek,  and  the  man  knew  he 
had  conquered.  He  was  far  from  relishing  the  necessity 
for  his  conduct;  he  did  not  exult;  but  on  the  contrary,  he 
responded  to  her  capitulation  with  an  air  of  deference  and 
gentleness. 

"Now  then,  Mrs.  Westbrook,"  he  resumed,  in  tones 
vastly  altered,  "  I  trust  you  have  chosen  the  wiser  course. 
I  am  asking  little  of  you." 

Her  back  was  now  turned  to  him,  and  she  did  not  meet  his 
regard. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?  "  she  asked  over  one  shoulder,  and 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

"Well,  first,"  becoming  abruptly  business-like  and 
[259] 


The  Silver  Blade 

impersonal,  "did  you  ever  hear  General  Westbrook  men- 
tion a  certain  Don  Juan  del  Castillo  ?  " 

He  paused,  for  the  back  turned  to  him  betrayed  a 
start. 

"  Because,"  he  continued  at  once,  "  I  believe  it  is  through 
Don  Juan  that  this  mystery  may  be  cleared."  He  hesitated 
again,  curious  to  see  her  face. 

Mrs.  Westbrook  astonished  him.  Quite  without  warning 
she  wheeled  about  and  took  one  or  two  rapid  steps  toward 
him.  Her  eyes  were  wide  with  a  terror  the  existence  of 
which  nothing  within  his  knowledge  would  account  for; 
but  it  was  plain  that  he  had  at  last  penetrated  her  reserve. 

"  What  —  what  do  you  know  of  him  ?  "  she  demanded  in 
a  hoarse,  distressed  whisper.  "  Who  —  who  —  Good  God, 
what  are  you  ?  What  do  you  know  ? "  As  she  awaited  his 
reply  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  tumultuously. 

"  Mrs.  Westbrook  —  calm  yourself  —  there  is  no  occa- 
sion for  this  excitement,"  he  returned,  sorely  perplexed  at 
this  unexpected  turn.  He  hesitated  to  press  this  woman 
whose  agitation  was  so  profound,  yet  incomprehensible; 
but  she  offered  him  an  opportunity  which  duty  sternly  bade 
him  take  advantage  of.  "If  you  will  be  seated  for  a  few 
minutes  —  "he  added;  but  she  again  interrupted: 

"  Tell   me  —  at  once  —  what  wrong   has   my   husband 
done  ?    My  God !  my  God !    Is  his  name  to  be  smirched  - 
to  be  dragged  in  the  mire  —  now  —  now  that  he  is  dead  ? " 

He  considered  his  reply. 

"Mrs.  Westbrook,  I  have  not  come  here  to  inquire  into 
General  Westbrook's  conduct  while  he  was  alive,  further 
than  is  necessary  to  aid  me  in  finding  who  is  responsible  for 
his  death.  Of  still  greater  importance  than  this  is  the 

[260] 


Faint  Rays  from  Strange  Sources 

necessity  of  freeing  your  daughter  from  the  cloud  of  suspicion 
which  now  rests  upon  her  —  if  it  be  possible." 

Something  very  like  a  sob  escaped  from  the  woman's 
tightly  compressed  lips. 

"  Can  —  can  —  you  —  you  —  can  you  save  Joyce,"  she 
faltered,  "  without  dishonoring  my  —  without  dishonoring 
the  dead?" 

Could  he  ?  He  weighed  his  answer  carefully,  and  when 
he  finally  spoke  it  was  to  make  an  attempt  at  reassuring  this 
agitated  woman. 

"You  know,  I  suppose,  that  General  Westbrook  was  a 
joint  administrator  of  the  Castillo  estate  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,"  he  spoke  with  much  earnestness,"  so  far  as 
my  investigations  have  been  carried  into  the  mutual  affairs 
of  your  husband  and  Alberto  de  Sanchez,  not  a  circum- 
stance has  appeared  that  is  not  strictly  honorable.  The 
matter  has  been  gone  into  fully;  the  records  are  correct  in 
every  particular  —  full  and  complete  —  and  nothing  what- 
ever points  to  anything  not  strictly  honest  and  fair." 

Again  Converse  was  surprised.  Mrs.  Westbrook  sudden- 
ly sank  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  tears. 


261] 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  VOICE  IN  THE  NIGHT 

THE  woman  who  presently  turned  to  Mr.  Converse  was 
a  very  different  woman  from  the  one  who  had  met  him 
but  a  few  minutes  previously.  As  soon  as  the  brief 
emotional  outburst  had  exhausted  itself  her  admirable  poise 
and  self-possession  returned,  and  with  it  all  the  frigid  reserve, 
the  air  of  aloofness  and  apparent  unconcern.  But  there  was 
this  immense  difference:  —  where  her  attitude  had  been 
condescending  and  inflexibly  hostile,  it  now  conveyed  a 
subtle  suggestion  of  surrender,  by  recognizing  some  tremen- 
dous advantage  which  this  man  seemed  to  possess ;  she  was 
no  longer  hard  and  unyielding,  but  ready  to  comply  with 
any  demands  he  might  make ;  and  he  knew  that  every  ob- 
stacle which  served  to  seal  her  lips  had  been  swept  away 
as  by  a  breath.  Such  was  the  potency  of  a  name. 

"  Please  be  seated,  Mr.  —  Mr.  Converse,"  she  finally 
said,  her  voice  tense  with  controlled  passion.  There  was 
no  attempt  at  explanation,  no  apology,— unless  this  con- 
cession could  be  counted  such, —  and  she  faced  him  placidly, 
wholly  at  her  ease. 

"Was  it  of  this,"  she  continued,  "that  you  talked  to 
Charlotte  Fairchild  this  morning  ?  " 

No  doubt  now  why  Joyce  had  inquired  for  him.  So 
this  leaven  was  at  work. 

"Yes,  to  a  limited  extent,"  was  the  cautious  reply. 

"  You  insinuated  nothing  —  nothing  —  '  she  hesitated 
[262] 


A  Voice  in  the  Night 

and  still  further  lowered  her  voice,  in  which  there  was  now 
a  dominant  note  of  anxiety,  "  you  did  not  allow  her  to  gather 
the  idea  that  there  was  anything  discreditable  in  General 
Westbrook's  — 

"Pardon  me,"  he  broke  in  quietly.  "I  could  hardly 
insinuate  anything  derogatory  of  the  General's  character, 
when  I  am  ignorant  that  any  such  circumstance  exists." 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  narrowly,  as  if  she  would 
probe  his  thoughts,  and  presently  sighed. 

"  If  I  only  knew  —   "  she  breathed,  vaguely. 

"  What,  Mrs.  Westbrook  ?     I  will  tell  you  if  I  can." 

"  Well  —  "  she  still  hesitated,  "  if  I  only  knew  what  your 
knowledge  amounts  to.  You  say  General  Westbrook  was 
innocent  of  any  wrong-doing ;  how  should  you  know  ?  What 
reason  have  you  had  to  consider  the  possibility  at  all,  if  some 
suspicion  has  not  been  engendered  in  your  mind?  Then, 
what  occasioned  that  suspicion  ?  You  see,  I  am  torn  by 
doubts  and  anxieties." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Westbrook,  so  I  perceive.  But  it  would 
require  half  the  night  to  go  fully  into  this  matter;  and  still, 
to  free  you  from  your  doubts  and  anxieties,  I  may  tell  you 
this :  that  the  tragedies  of  which  Senor  de  Sanchez  and  your 
husband  were  the  victims  are  very  closely  connected,  and  I 
have  many  reasons  for  believing  that  whatever  light  may  be 
thrown  upon  one  will  correspondingly  tend  to  clear  the  other. 
The  name  Castillo  —  or  Del  Castillo  —  bears  a  close  rela- 
tion to  both ;  therefore  it  is  essential  that  every  circumstance 
bearing  upon  that  relation  should  be  known  and  under- 
stood. It  is  evident  that  you  know  something  of  Don  Juan 
of  which  I  am  ignorant;  it  is  also  evident  that  whatever 
you  know  troubles  you.  Now,  I  may  be  able  to  remove 

[2631 


The  Silver  Blade 

the  cause  of  that  trouble,  and  you  to  give  me  some  valuable 
information." 

She  pondered  quite  a  while. 

"Mr.  Converse,  I  am  a  proud  woman,"  she  announced, 
simply;  "to  go  into  such  intimate  family  matters  —  thus 
openly  to  discuss  topics  which  I  hesitate  to  contemplate  even 
in  the  privacy  of  my  own  thoughts  —  is  to  me  a  very  real  tor- 
ture ;  but  for  the  sake  of  my  dead  husband,  I  owe  you  some 
sort  of  explanation.  When  you  mentioned  that  name  it  fright- 
ened me ;  it  made  me  suspect  that  you  had  the  power  of  divin- 
ing what  is  forbidden  my  own  mind,  and  I  naturally  wondered 
to  what  extent  that  divination  was  capable  of  penetrating. 

"But,  after  all,  my  fears  have  been  based  on  a  mere 
phantom  —  a  name  spoken  in  the  dark  —  and  in  hearken- 
ing to  it  and  pondering  upon  it,  I  have  allowed  myself  greatly 
to  wrong  my  husband.  God  forgive  me!  .  .  .  Has  not 
the  entire  matter  become  irrelevant  ?  "  she  abruptly  finished, 
with  obvious  reluctance  to  proceed. 

"Far  from  it  —  far  from  it,"  was  the  reply,  uttered  em- 
phatically; "you  must  let  me  be  the  judge  of  that.  There 
are  so  many  ramifications  to  these  two  tragedies,  that  you 
cannot  even  remotely  realize  how  significant  and  important 
the  most  trifling  particular  may  be." 

"  But  it  does  not  affect  Joyce  —  in  any  way  you  imagine. 
.  .  .  Please  be  seated,  Mr.  Converse." 

He  obeyed  this  second  injunction,  drawing  the  chair 
around  so  that  he  directly  faced  her.  He  waited  quietly 
for  her  to  proceed. 

"Do  you  still  wish  to  hear?"  she  asked  presently;  and 
when  he  bowed  a  courteous  intimation  that  he  was  waiting, 
she  continued: 

[2641 


A  Voice  in  the  Night 

"  Well,  it  is  very  difficult  —  it  is  so  like  a  confession, " — 
she  arose  abruptly,  and,  walking  to  the  door,  bolted  it;  after 
which  she  resumed  her  seat  and  the  recital  simultaneously,  — 
"  that  I  hope  my  husband  may  hear  and  know  it  for  an  act 
of  penance. 

"  General  Westbrook  was  never  a  man  to  discuss  his  busi- 
ness affairs  with  any  one,  and  there  existed  many  reasons 
why  he  should  not  make  a  confidante  of  me ;  so  I  must  tell 
you  at  the  outset  that  what  I  heard  of  the  name  Del  Cas- 
tillo came  to  my  ears  in  more  or  less  of  a  surreptitious  manner 
and  without  General  Westbrook's  knowledge.  Whether 
the  words  themselves  or  the  circumstances  under  which  I 
heard  them  justify  my  anxiety,  you  may  judge. 

"When  he  finally  wound  up  his  affairs  in  Mexico  and 
returned  home,  I  noticed  immediately  that  some  trouble  was 
weighing  heavily  upon  his  mind.  I  never  showed  him  by 
word  or  sign  that  I  remarked  his  mental  state;  but  it  was 
plain,  nevertheless,  and  so  unusual  as  to  worry  me  not  a  little. 
As  the  days  passed  this  secret  trouble  deepened  rather  than 
grew  lighter,  and  developed  in  my  poor  husband  an  irasci- 
bility quite  foreign  to  his  uniformly  courteous  manner.  Nat- 
urally, when  I  beheld  that  this  trouble  was  not  diminishing, 
my  worry  increased ;  but  I  never  questioned  him. 

"  Well,  this  condition  continued  for  several  months  without 
abatement  or  apparent  change,  until  one  night  I  was  awak- 
ened suddenly  by  hearing  him  cry  aloud.  I  was  very  much 
startled, —  frightened,  indeed, —  and  I  waited  to  see  if  I  was 
the  victim  of  my  sleeping  senses,  or  if  he  had  indeed  called 
out."  She  paused,  and  her  thin  lips  momentarily  tightened. 
"  Then  I  experienced  the  most  dreadful  sensation  of  my  life. 

"  Our  apartments,  you  must  know,  adjoin  and  are  divided 
[265] 


The  Silver  Blade 

only  by  portieres.  We  had  both  retired  long  since;  I  was 
dimly  conscious  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour;  and  I  had  no 
reason  to  believe  otherwise  than  that  the  General  had  been 
many  hours  asleep.  But  as  I  waited,  I  found  that  I  had  not 
been  dreaming.  I  heard  him  say  distinctly,  'I  had  rather 
see  her  dead  at  my  feet  than  wife  to  such  as  you. ' 

"Now  thoroughly  alarmed,  I  switched  on  the  light  and 
hastened  into  his  room.  My  husband  was  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  I  perceived  instantly  that  he  was 
asleep.  This  merely  increased  my  fright,  for  in  all  the  years 
of  our  married  life  he  had  been  a  healthy  sleeper,  though 
retiring  late  and  rising  early. 

"I  caught  his  arm  and  called  him  by  name.  He  awoke 
at  once  and  looked  at  me  in  a  dazed  way;  then  he  became 
unaccountably  angry,  and  demanded  to  know  if  he  had 
spoken.  And  when  I  told  him,  he  explained  his  words  as 
the  vagaries  of  a  bad  dream.  Far  from  satisfied,  I  accepted 
this  explanation,  scorning  to  question  him  concerning  any 
matter  which  he  did  not  choose  to  tell  me  voluntarily;  and 
I  returned  to  my  own  apartment  in  some  chagrin,  for  his 
manner  had  offended  me.  I  believe  neither  of  us  slept 
much  the  remainder  of  that  night. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Converse,  that  was  merely  a  beginning  — 
four  years  ago.  It  may  be  difficult  for  you  to  understand 
my  conduct  under  such  trying  circumstances  —  why  I  never 
questioned  my  husband;  why  I  permitted  my  doubts  and 
fears  to  continue  without  an  effort  to  remove  them;  but 
General  Westbrook  and  I  to  a  certain  extent  lived  our  lives 
apart,"-  -  the  listener  fancied  he  detected  a  note  of  bitter- 
ness in  this  statement, —  "  and  we  were  not  in  entire  accord 
upon  all  matters.  Don't  get  the  idea  that  any  ground  for 

[266] 


A  Voice  in  the  Night 

trouble  existed  between  us,"  she  hastily  added;  "no,  no, 
—  but  there  was  a  certain  restraint,  a  lack  of  sympathy, 
characterizing  our  entire  married  life,  which  led  naturally 
to  a  repression  of  those  confidences  without  which  such 
a  condition  cannot  be  perfect.  God  help  me,  perhaps  I 
was  to  blame;  but  so  it  was.  And  besides,  I  did  try  to 
remove  my  doubts  —  to  quiet  my  fears,  as  you  shall  pres- 
ently see. 

"  Two  nights  passed  before  I  heard  other  dream  vagaries, 
as  he  was  pleased  to  call  them,  and  I  first  heard  the  name 
Del  Castillo  upon  this  second  occasion.  I  failed  to  catch  the 
sense  in  which  it  was  used,  but  after  a  long  silence  he  began 
to  say,  over  and  over  again,  '  Paquita  is  not  dead  —  Paquita 
is  not  dead.'  ' 

Paquita  again !  Verily,  she  was  not  dead, —  if  her  in- 
fluence over  the  destinies  of  so  many  of  the  living  signified 
anything  at  all. 

"I  listened  until  it  nearly  drove  me  mad,  and  again  I 
awoke  him.  When  I  repeated  his  words  he  was  angry,  as 
he  had  been  before,  and  at  the  same  time  confused.  But 
he  tried  to  laugh  it  off,  and  demanded  that  I  think  no  more 
of  the  episode.  In  short,  his  manner  was  so  strange  and 
unnatural  that  I  was  worried  nearly  to  distraction.  How 
could  I  refrain  from  thinking  of  it  ?  Of  what  use  was  it  to 
bid  my  thoughts  occupy  themselves  with  other  matters  when 
they  continued  to  circle  about  this  dreadful  secret  which 
preyed  so  heavily  upon  his  mind  ?  Mr.  Converse,  you  can't 
imagine  the  expedients  I  adopted  to  dissipate  my  fears,  the 
casuistry  I  employed  to  banish  my  doubts.  I  would  argue 
that  his  sense  of  honor  was  so  exalted,  his  standard  so  high, 
that  a  very  little  thing  might  grievously  trouble  him,  which 

[267] 


The  Silver  Blade 

might  appear  trivial  to  another  man.     But  how  could  this 
idea  be  reconciled  with  his  wild  words  of  death  ? 

"The  next  morning  he  announced  to  me  that  he  would 
thenceforward  sleep  in  another  room.  I  made  no  comment, 
but  superintended  the  removal  of  his  things. 

"  I  lay  awake  all  that  night  and  most  of  the  next ;  then  — 
then  —  " 

Once  more  she  paused.  She  plucked  nervously  at  a  fold 
of  her  skirt,  manifesting  the  greatest  reluctance  to  go  on. 
But  her  nature  was  not  to  be  swayed  by  trifles;  if  a  painful 
confidence  were  once  undertaken,  it  was  quite  plain  she 
would  press  it  to  the  end,  sparing  neither  herself  nor  whomso- 
ever else  it  might  affect.  All  at  once  she  folded  her  hands 
with  an  easy,  natural  movement  and  continued  : 

"Mr.  Converse,  where  I  would  not  openly  seek  light,  I 
was  not  above  listening  in  secret:  in  dressing-gown  and  slip- 
pers I  stole  to  his  door  during  the  early  morning  hours,  and 
knelt  with  my  ear  to  the  keyhole. 

"  Many  times  I  was  rewarded  with  no  spoken  words  — 
only  the  evidences  of  a  troubled  and  broken  slumber.  At 
other  times  I  heard  him  say  things  that  made  my  blood  run 
cold :  *  Man,  before  you  do  this  thing  I  will  kill  you  with  my 
own  hands ' ;  again,  '  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  man  is 
living  ?  '  At  times  he  cursed  some  one  in  a  terrible  voice,  and 
once  —  once  — "  She  leant  suddenly  forward  and  fixed 
upon  him  a  gaze  moving  in  its  intensity.  "Mr.  Converse, 
is  this  confidence  buried  within  your  own  bosom  ?  " 

"  It  is,"  he  replied,  with  convincing  gravity. 

"  Once,"  she  went  on,  leaning  back  again,  "  I  heard  him 
groan,  'Elinor,  I  may  never  look  upon  your  face  again;  men 
culpa!  mea  culpa!  '  Of  a  sudden  she  clenched  one  hand 

[268] 


A  Voice  in  the  Night 

convulsively  and  struck  smartly  an  arm  of  the  chair. 
"Good  God!  what  could  that  mean?"  she  cried  with  a 
startling  fierceness;  then,  one  quick  intake  of  breath,  and 
she  was  again  her  usual  tranquil,  collected  self.  She  at- 
tempted a  little  smile.  "  You  see,"  she  said,  in  a  deprecat- 
ing way,  "that  those  confidences  to  the  night  have  not  yet 
lost  their  power  to  disturb  me  —  and  I  am  not  easily  moved." 
She  remained  silent  for  a  time,  as  if  collecting  her  thoughts; 
presently  she  resumed  the  narrative. 

"There  were  certain  names  mentioned  by  him  times 
innumerable.  I  have  heard  Castillo,  Alberto  de  Sanchez, 
Paquita,  my  daughter's  name,  and  Fernando  — 

"  Fernando  ?  "     Converse  interpellated,  sharply. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  recognize  it  ?  I  know  no  more  of  it  than 
that." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  new  to  me.  .  .  .  But  proceed, 
please." 

"Well,  at  best  the  names  were  so  confused  and  uttered 
in  such  a  way  that  I  could  gather  no  connection,  and  oftener 
than  not  his  words  would  trail  off  into  incomplete  sentences 
and  unintelligible  mutterings. 

"  But  so  it  went  on.  Night  after  night  I  would  hearken 
to  the  incoherencies  of  my  sleeping  husband,  overcome  with 
a  nameless  terror  in  the  cold  dark  hall ;  in  the  broad  glare  of 
day  my  anxieties  and  fears  would  shrink  almost  to  insig- 
nificance —  but  oh,  the  night ! 

"However,  as  time  passed,  whatever  was  preying  on 
General  Westbrook's  mind  began  gradually  to  abate  its  evil 
influence ;  his  sleep  became  once  more  healthy,  and  abruptly 
he  returned  to  his  regular  apartment. 

"Naturally,  my  own  fears  subsided  somewhat;  but  a 
[2691 


The  Silver  Blade 

suspicion  of  unknown  wrongdoing  had  been  awakened  in 
my  mind,  casting  a  continual  shadow  over  my  thoughts. 
Oh,  that  terrible  worm  of  doubt  that  gnawed  forever  at  my 
brain!  After  this,  I  believe,  my  poor  husband  could  have 
made  no  explanation  that  would  have  destroyed  it  utterly. 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Converse,  slight  as  was  my  knowledge 
of  General  Westbrook's  affairs,  I  knew  about  his  association 
with  Senor  de  Sanchez.  I  also  knew  that  Senor  de  Sanchez 
was  a  distinguished  gentleman,  of  great  wealth  and  excellent 
family ;  and  when  the  question  of  his  eligibility  as  a  husband 
for  my  daughter  was  broached,  I  —  I  —  I  -  Well,  it  was 
an  honor  of  which  any  mother  might  have  been  proud." 

"  Mrs.  Westbrook,  I  cannot  believe  that  you  are  express- 
ing your  true  feelings  in  this  regard."  The  look  that  ac- 
companied this  announcement  was  sharp  and  meaning. 
"  Were  you  satisfied  with  such  an  arrangement  ?  " 

She  returned  his  scrutiny  a  little  doubtfully;  but  at  last 
asked: 

"  Can  this  be  of  any  benefit  to  Joyce  ?  " 

"  If  you  did  not  sanction  Senor  de  Sanchez's  proposal,  I 
could  scarcely  overestimate  its  importance  as  an  aid  to 
clearing  up  some  matters  as  they  concern  the  young  lady." 

"  Well,  then  I  shall  be  frank.  At  first  I  did  not  give  my 
approval;  I  had  other  ideas  for  Joyce's  future;  but  one 
morning  General  Westbrook  sent  a  request  that  I  come  to 
him  in  the  library.  The  instant  I  entered  I  comprehended 
that  he  was  struggling  with  some  recent  trouble.  In  the 
course  of  the  conversation  which  followed  he  informed  me 
that  a  very  grave  reason  existed  why  we  should  consider 
carefully  before  definitely  rejecting  Senor  de  Sanchez's 
offer;  and  while  he  did  not  tell  me  what  that  reason  was,  I 

[2701 


A  Voice  in  the  Night 

was  given  to  understand  that  it  involved  some  scandal 
threatening  my  husband,  and  that  De  Sanchez  had  the 
power  to  remove  it. 

'Otherwise?'  I  inquired.     He  turned  to  a  drawer  of 
his  desk  and  produced  a  pistol. 

"  'Otherwise,'  he  said  with  a  smile,  'I  might  still  escape  it.' 

*' '  Do  you  contemplate  murder  ? '  I  asked. 

"  '  Louise ! '  he  cried  in  a  hurt  tone,  as  though  pained 
that  I  could  entertain  such  a  thought ;  '  is  it  possible  you  can 
so  misconstrue  my  words  ? ' 

'  I  do  not  know  how  else  to  interpret  them  —  nor  your 
actions,'  said  I. 

'Then  I  shall  be  more  explicit,'  he  rejoined;  'I  would 
place  the  muzzle  of  this  pistol  —  ' 

"  '  You  need  not  continue,'  I  interrupted.  '  Is  it  so  seri- 
ous?' 

'  It  is,'  said  he,  very  soberly. 

"  'And  do  you  think  now  that  I  could  see  Joyce  go  to 
such  a  man  ? '  I  asked. 

"  'You  do  not  fully  understand,'  he  persisted.  'The 
situation  is  this,'  —  and  he  repeated  that  Senor  de  Sanchez 
would  have  the  power  to  do  away  with  the  impending  scandal. 
We  concluded  by  agreeing  to  leave  the  matter  with  Joyce. 

"Her  manner  of  taking  it  greatly  relieved  the  situation. 
'  Give  me  six  months,'  was  her  response.  '  If  at  the  end  of 
that  time  you  still  consider  it  necessary,  I  will  marry  him.' 
She  looked  at  her  father  with  open  scorn.  Then  she  went 
on,  'You  may  inform  him;  but  this  promise  rests  on  three 
conditions:  that  it  be  kept  a  secret;  that  it  is  never  referred 
to  in  my  presence,  directly  or  indirectly;  and  that  he  make 
no  attempt  to  see  me  till  the  six  months  have  expired.' 

[271] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  The  General  said, '  I  am  afraid  he  will  receive  the  mes- 
sage with  a  sour  smile,  my  dear.'  But  Joyce's  manner 
showed  a  complete  indifference.  'Moreover,'  went  on  my 
husband, '  your  word  once  passed,  there  must  be  no  backing 
down  —  no  retreat.'  She  flashed  another  scornful  look  at 
him,  but  merely  said,  '  Do  not  forget  to  emphasize  the  three 
conditions  when  you  see  Senor  de  Sanchez.' 

"  And  such  was  the  arrangement  at  the  time  of  Senor  de 
Sanchez's  death." 

The  Captain  fixed  his  regard  upon  the  cold  and  hand- 
some woman  before  him,  and  strove  to  harmonize  her  ap- 
pearance with  the  remarkable  marital  condition  revealed 
by  her  most  amazing  disclosure.  Was  it  possible  she  sat 
as  tranquilly  as  she  now  was  sitting,  and  discussed  in  those 
arctic  tones  the  chances  of  her  husband  committing  suicide, 
with  this  same  air  of  easy  indifference  ?  It  was  impossible 
not  to  believe  her;  yet  such  utter  sang-froid  was  almost  in- 
conceivable. 

In  a  moment  Converse  pulled  himself  together. 

"With  your  permission,  I  will  ask  you  a  few  questions 
concerning  Miss  Joyce.  First,  do  you  know  why  she  re- 
mained silent  before  my  questions  this  morning  ?  " 

She  lowered  her  head,  and  sat  for  a  time  in  deep  reflec- 
tion. When  she  again  turned  to  him,  it  was  not  to  reply 
directly  to  his  question. 

"I  am  not  fully  in  my  daughter's  confidence  in  this 
matter,  although  I  believe  I  do  know  what  motives  —  or 
impulses,  rather  —  are  controlling  her.  I  may  add  that 
they  have  my  reprobation;  but  the  interests  involved  are 
quite  serious;  Joyce  has  unexpectedly  developed  a  phase 
of  character  astonishing  to  me,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my 

[272] 


A  Voice  in  the  Night 

life  I  hesitate  to  interfere  in  her  affairs.  The  matter  does 
not  affect  her  own  welfare  alone,  and  I  must  refuse  to  go 
further  into  it  with  you.  She  has  assumed  a  terrible  responsi- 
bility, and  however  severely  I  may  condemn  her  conduct, 
she  has  commanded  my  admiration.  I  feel  that  I  must  at 
least  cooperate  to  the  extent  of  respecting  her  silence.  She 
wishes  to  see  you,  I  believe.  Hear  from  her  what  she  has 
to  say." 

"  Does  your  reticence  include  the  interchange  of  messages 
between  Miss  Joyce  and  Mr.  Fairchild  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  quick  accession  of  interest. 
"No,"  was  her  reply.  "Why  should  you  ask  that?" 

He  waved  the  question  to  one  side.  "  It 's  immaterial. 
Possibly  there  has  been  no  such  interchange.  .  .  .  There  is 
but  one  more  question,  Mrs.  Westbrook.  While  you  were 
returning  from  Mrs.  Farquier's  last  night,  why  did  you  peer 
so  closely  into  the  darkness  ?  Whom  were  you  expecting  to 
see  ?  " 

A  faint  flicker  of  wonder  penetrated  the  mask  of  her 
countenance,  but  quickly  disappeared. 

"  I  suppose  all  this  is  necessary  ?  " 

"  It  is,  indeed." 

"  Well,  I  expected  to  see  one  of  two  young  men." 

"  Ah !  Then  the  one  you  did  see  —  the  fact  of  its  being 
Mr.  Lyndeh  —  removed  a  cause  of  worry  ?  " 

"  You  are  correct.  I  could  not  consider  him  seriously  in 
any  light." 

That  was  all.  As  she  arose,  she  inclined  her  head  slightly. 
"  Joyce  will  see  you  here,"  she  said. 

Had  every  incident  of  the  past  half -hour  been  a  dream  ? 
Here  was  the  identical  woman  who  had  given  him  such  a 

[2731 


The  Silver  Blade 

glacial  welcome,  now  leaving  him  with  the  same  air  of  re- 
serve and  aloofness.  No,  not  quite.  She  was  nearly  to  the 
door,  when  of  a  sudden  she  faced  about  and  advanced  close  to 
him ;  and  for  the  third  tune  during  this  extraordinary  inter- 
view he  was  so  taken  aback  that  he  was  at  a  loss  for  words. 

She  stood  motionless  for  a  time,  her  pale,  cold  eyes  fixed 
intently  on  his  serious  gray  ones.  Then  she  spoke. 

"  Look  closely,  Mr.  Converse." 

He  was  disconcerted,  and  made  no  response.  Presently 
she  went  on. 

"  You  think  I  am  a  strange  woman,  do  you  not  ?  —  cold, 
callous,  indifferent,  incapable  of  any  feeling  ?  " 

Still  he  was  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"  You,  who  read  me  so  well, —  who  seemed  to  divine  all 
of  Joyce's  thoughts  and  actions, —  look  deep  into  my  eyes. 
Am  I  such  a  woman  ?  " 

Then,  to  him  who  gazed  so  earnestly,  it  was  as  if  a  miracle 
had  happened;  as  if  the  icy  shell  which  encased  this  hand- 
some woman  had  all  at  once  melted  —  vanished  from  before 
his  eyes  —  and  it  was  given  him  to  read  the  naked  soul 
beneath.  It  was  as  swift  in  passing,  but  as  vivid,  as  a  flash 
of  lightning. 

He  retreated  a  step  and  bowed  low  to  her. 

"Mrs.  Westbrook,  forgive  me;  I  have  misjudged  you. 
I  see  that  your  daughter's  welfare  is  as  indissolubly  a  part 
of  your  own  as  if  your  two  lives  were  one."  He  paused  a 
moment,  then  concluded  earnestly,  "  I  '11  do  what  I  can  for 
her  —  to  free  her  from  this  coil.  You  have  my  word." 

She  moved  to  the  door  before  making  any  response. 
With  her  hand  on  the  knob  she  turned  and  faced  him  again. 

"God  aid  you,"  she  whispered,   and  was  gone. 
[274] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  CORONER'S  COUP 

POSSIBLY  ten  minutes  elapsed  before  Miss  Westbrook 
entered  the  room;  had  she  been  a  witness  of  her 
mother's  departure,  she  would  have  known  that  Mr. 
Converse  had  not  stirred  during  that  time.  His  attention 
was  evidently  drawn  forcibly  back  from  distant  spaces  and 
fixed  upon  her  with  an  effort.  In  seeking  this  meeting  she  had 
prepared  for  an  ordeal,  but  now  she  became  sensible  of  the  fact 
that  other  concerns  besides  her  own  might  occupy  his  mind, 
and  that  those  unwavering,  piercing  eyes,  the  scrutiny  of 
which  was  so  disconcerting,  were  able  to  look  at  and  through 
her  without  being  aware  of  her  presence.  She  was  reluctant  to 
break  in  upon  a  concentration  which  so  candidly  ignored  her. 

Her  appearance  was  unaltered  from  what  it  had  presented 
that  morning,  save,  perhaps,  for  a  faint  tinge  of  color  in  the 
pale  cheeks  and  the  added  light  of  some  purpose  in  the  depths 
of  her  violet  eyes.  Notwithstanding  the  high  spirit  revealed 
in  the  unconscious  flash  of  her  glance,  she  was,  after  all,  very 
slight,  very  fragile,  and  very  feminine;  and  she  was  soon  to 
have  dire  need  of  all  the  support  that  could  be  rendered  her. 

Quite  suddenly  she  became  aware  of  recognition  in  his 
regard.  She  moved  impulsively  toward  him,  her  hand  for 
a  moment  tentatively  outstretched;  as  she  spoke,  her  color 
deepened. 

" Mr.  Converse,"  she  began  with  shy  hesitancy,  "I  —  I 
have  come  here  to  beg  your  forgiveness."  Her  voice  was 
low  and  soft,  her  manner  winning. 

[275] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Well,  Miss  Westbrook,"  he  retorted,  a  note  of  raillery 
in  his  speech,  designed  to  place  her  completely  at  her  ease, 
"  I  am  a  sorely  wronged  person ;  however,  I  am  not  — 
But,  still  impulsively,  she  interrupted  him. 

"Mr.  Converse,  I  was  unpardonably  rude  this  morning; 
I  must  have  appeared  wretchedly  mean  and  ill-bred;  but 
you  have  no  idea  what  doubts  and  anxieties  —  But  now 
he  stopped  her. 

"Tut,  tut,  Miss  Westbrook;  I  do  know.  I  understand 
perfectly,  and  sympathize  with  you." 

"Still,"  she  persisted,  "if  I  had  only  known  this  morn- 
ing! If  —  " 

The  talk  was  becoming  a  series  of  interruptions. 

"  Ah,  '  if,'  "  he  took  her  up.  "  You  are  familiar  with  the 
saying  about  one  convinced  against  his  will,  eh  ?  This 
morning  I  recognized  the  necessity  of  a  —  er  —  a  softening 
influence  —  the  ineptness  of  a  mere  man.  If  you  had  been 
in  the  same  mood  then  that  you  are  now,  I  should  have 
missed  one  of  the  pleasantest  hours  of  my  life.  So  you  see, 
that  even  a  young  lady's  whims  and  caprices  are  not  without 
their  compensations.  What  have  you  learned  that  has 
moved  you  to  kindlier  feelings?"  He  spoke  lightly;  but 
there  was  an  intelligible  purpose  in  his  concluding  question. 

"About  Clay  —  about  Mr.  Fairchild,"  she  murmured, 
shyly.  Another  wave  of  color,  deeper  than  before,  dyed  her 
cheeks.  "Is  it  true  you  do  not  suspect  him  of  —  of- 

Converse  sobered  before  her  earnest,  searching  inspection. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  returned,  gravely,  "  it  is  entirely 
owing  to  Mr.  Fairchild  himself  and  to  you,  that  any  suspi- 
cion was  ever  drawn  to  him.  Between  the  two  of  you,  each 
has  done  about  all  that  could  be  done  to  make  me  suspect  the 

[276] 


The  Coroner's  Coup 

other.     Then  the  Doctor  —  well,   among  you    all,  you  've 
succeeded  in  getting  things  badly  tangled  up." 

"That  would  make  me  very  happy  were  there  not  so 
much  else  to  distress  me." 

He  regarded  her  with  the  utmost  seriousness.  What 
peculiar  conception  did  she  have  of  her  position  ?  She 
seemed  utterly  blind  to  its  peril  —  or  else  was  recklessly 
disregardful.  But  it  was  an  easy  matter  to  adapt  himself 
to  her  present  compliant  humor. 

"  Still,  Miss  Westbrook,"  said  he,  "  there  is  much  yet  that 
needs  clearing  up.  After  all  this  delay  the  situation  has 
become  serious  and  will  require  extraordinary  deftness  in 
its  handling  —  especially  as  concerns  yourself.  If  you  and 
Mr.  Fairchild  cannot  lend  me  a  very  considerable  aid,  my 
task  will  be  prodigious.  The  additional  distress  which  you 
may  be  obliged  to  endure  I  hesitate  to  point  out." 

She  waited  while  he  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  room. 

"In  the  first  place,"  he  resumed,  coming  to  an  abrupt 
pause  before  her,  "  I  must  have  absolute  frankness  from  you, 
from  the  Doctor,  and  Mr.  Fairchild.  Nothing  must  be  kept 
back.  The  older  heads  are  the  wiser,  Miss  Westbrook. 
Your  mother  sees  this  thing  as  I  do." 

"Do  you  know,"  she  interposed,  her  voice  betraying  a 
sudden  awe  and  wonder,  "that  mamma  advised  me  to  be 
perfectly  open  and  candid  with  you  ?  "  She  gazed  at  him 
as  if  trying  to  fathom  what  other  mysterious  forces  lay  be- 
hind his  blank,  rough  visage.  "She  came  from  you  to  me 
with  such  an  admonition." 

"I  am  not  at  all  surprised.  Mrs.  Westbrook  is  a  very 
sensible  woman,  profoundly  interested  in  what  affects  her 
daughter." 

[277] 


The  Silver  Blade 

She  shook  her  head  doubtfully,  as  if  the  matter  remained 
an  insoluble  riddle. 

"However,"  he  continued,  "she  was  right,  and  I  believe 
her  opinion  is  in  harmony  with  your  own." 

"Yes;  I  shall  keep  nothing  back."  The  color  all  at  once 
ebbed  from  her  cheeks,  leaving  them  white  and  cold.  Her 
sensitive  lips  trembled,  yet  her  voice  remained  steady  and 
even,  and  she  looked  at  him  without  a  sign  of  confusion,  as 
she  made  the  simple  statement :  "  I  love  Clay,  Mr.  Converse. 
Does  that  explain  anything  ?  " 

He  regarded  her  with  undisguised  admiration. 

"  It  explains  a  great  deal,"  he  replied,  "  but  not  all  —  not 
all." 

"Well,  I  hardly  know  how  to  begin,"  she  said,  slowly 
and  thoughtfully ;  "  my  thoughts  seem  anchored  to  that  great 
fact;  it  is  so  sufficient  to  my  own  mind  —  She  paused. 

"  You  are  sure  you  can  trust  me  now,  Miss  Westbrook  ?  " 

"  I  intend  to  —  freely,  fully." 

"  Then  begin  at  the  beginning.  Tell  me  about  the  after- 
noon of  the  fourth  —  at  what  time  you  went  to  the  Nettleton 
Building,  and  what  took  place  there;  just  what  you  saw  and 
heard." 

As  he  spoke,  her  face  clouded. 

"  Well,"  was  the  response,  "I  —  I  was  — 

But  there  came  an  unlocked  for  interruption.  A  sudden 
sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  and  excited  voices,  somewhere  in 
the  house  below,  broke  upon  their  hearing,  expropriating  the 
attention  of  both.  The  girl  stood  rigid,  startled,  while  the 
Captain  turned  hastily  toward  the  door  as  the  clamor  resolved 
itself  into  a  rapid  approach  to  the  room  in  which  they  were. 

Before  he  could  lay  his  hand  upon  the  knob,  a  loud  rap 
[278] 


The  Coroner's  Coup 

sounded  on  the  panel,  and  a  shaking  voice  called  aloud  Miss 
Westbrook's  name.  She  paled,  and  it  forced  a  little  cry 
from  her;  the  door  burst  open,  and  a  strange  group  poured 
in  upon  them. 

First  came  Lynden  clutching  a  crumpled  newspaper,  his 
face  bloodless  and  twitching  with  intense  agitation.  He 
surged  forward  as  though  forcing  his  way  through  a  mass 
of  obstacles;  his  usually  fastidious  attire  was  dishevelled. 
Close  behind  him  followed  McCaleb,  much  calmer,  but 
plainly  showing  signs  of  excitement;  and  beyond  McCaleb 
stood  Mrs.  Westbrook,  the  placidity  of  her  handsome  features 
unruffled,  her  equanimity  not  at  all  disturbed  by  the  tumult. 

Before  Lynden's  unceremonious  entrance  Joyce  recoiled, 
with  an  involuntary  look  of  scorn  and  indignation  which 
engaged  Mr.  Converse's  interest.  Lynden  hastened  directly 
toward  her,  without  the  least  notice  of  any  one  else.  He 
extended  the  paper,  and,  in  tones  hoarse  and  tense,  cried, 

"  Joyce!     Good  God!  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

She  glanced  indifferently  at  the  sheet  —  shaking  in 
Lynden's  hands  so  that  it  rattled  —  to  start  next  instant  and 
utter  a  little  gasp. 

"Tell  me,"  Lynden  insisted  with  furious  vehemence, 
"  what  does  this  mean  ?  Who  has  betrayed  you  ?  " 

She  quickly  recovered  herself. 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  she  replied  coolly,  "  unless  some  spy 
has  done  so."  There  was  an  inflexion  of  indignant  con- 
tempt upon  the  word,  glaring  to  every  one  but  Lynden. 

"Spy?  Spy?"  he  repeated  blankly.  "I  don't  under- 
stand." But  of  a  sudden  he  did,  and  in  turn  recoiled  from 
Joyce.  For  the  first  time  he  became  aware  of  the  presence 
of  others  besides  himself  and  the  girl,  and  he  shot  over  the 

[279] 


The  Silver  Blade 

assembled  group  a  glance  at  once  accusing,  fearful,  suspicious, 
and  revealing  a  sense  of  shame  and  embarrassment  too  deep 
for  the  insinuation  alone  to  account  for  its  existence.  Shame- 
facedly and  abashed,  he  looked  from  Converse  to  McCaleb, 
and  muttered  an  unintelligible  apology  to  Mrs.  Westbrook. 

But  Joyce,  who  had  not  removed  her  steady  gaze  from 
him,  followed  his  glance,  and  in  tones  that  must  have  pene- 
trated him  like  knife-thrusts,  said: 

"Pray,  Howard  Lynden,  do  not  attempt  to  place  a  mis- 
construction upon  my  words.  When  I  said  '  spy,'  I  did  not 
refer  to  either  of  these  gentlemen.  Although  they  are  officers 
of  the  law  and  I  seem  to  be  in  a  miserably  compromising 
position,  they  have  not  dogged  my  every  movement;  they 
have  not  stood  off  at  a  distance  and  looked  suspicion  at  me 
every  time  I  met  their  eyes;  they  have  not  made  my  condi- 
tion more  wretched  by  all  sorts  of  innuendoes  and  vile  insin- 
uations, and  yet  —  and  yet  —  "  for  a  moment  she  was  almost 
in  tears;  her  throat  filled,  and  she  had  to  pause;  but  the 
weakness  was  conquered  almost  at  once,  and  she  continued, 
with  flashing  eyes,  her  voice  quivering  with  indignation,  — 
"  yet,  Howard  Lynden,  you  —  you  have  pretended  to  be  my 
friend.  As  for  that "  —  she  advanced  a  step  toward  him, 
and  pointing  an  accusing  finger  at  the  paper  in  his  hand,  con- 
centrated all  her  feelings  in  her  next  words.  So  scathing 
were  they  that  Lynden  winced  visibly  at  each  syllable,  as  if 
it  had  been  the  lash  of  a  whip, —  "  as  for  that,  I  think  of  it  as 
I  do  of  you — you  spy;  you  sneak!  Go,  go!  never  let  my 
eyes  rest  upon  you  again !  " 

Completely  discomfited  —  overwhelmed  by  the  sting  of 
her  words, —  he  offered  not  the  shadow  of  a  defence.  Ab- 
ruptly, the  girl's  mood  changed.  It  was  like  the  snapping  of 

[280] 


The  Coroner's  Coup 

a  string  drawn  too  taut.  One  convulsive  sob  escaped  her,  she 
seemed  of  a  sudden  to  droop,  and  the  next  instant  Mrs. 
Westbrook,  moving  noiselessly,  was  at  her  side.  Calmly  and 
without  a  word  she  passed  an  arm  about  her  daughter's 
waist  and  drew  the  girl  close  to  her  side. 

"Mamma,  mamma,"  Joyce  faltered,  her  voice  breaking 
as  though  she  had  reached  the  limit  of  endurance,  "don't 
read  it !  Don't  look  at  it !  Oh !  —  Oh !  —  help  me ! "  Shud- 
dering she  hid  her  face  upon  her  mother's  shoulder,  her 
slender  form  quivering  with  sobs  that  could  not  be  restrained. 

With  features  sternly  set,  Converse  advanced  and  snatched 
the  paper  from  Lynden's  passive  fingers.  It  required  no 
search  to  find  the  one  important  item  that  it  contained. 
In  letters  which  any  who  ran  might  read,  appeared  the  fol- 
lowing headlines : 

DE  SANCHEZ  MURDER 

Startling    and    Suggestive    Discovery 
Made  by  Coroner  Merkel 


IMPORTANT      WITNESS       FOUND 


Saw  Lady  Running  from  Scene  of  Crime  at 
Time  It  Happened 


MYSTERIOUS     WOMAN     NOW     KNOWN 


She  is  Prominent  in  Society  and  May  Also  Account 
for  the  Westbrook  Tragedy 


As  might  be  expected  after  this  scare  head,  what  followed 
was  sensational  enough.     The  name  of  neither  Joyce  nor 

[281] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Slade  was  mentioned;  but  for  one  familiar  with  the  case  it 
was  easy  to  comprehend  that  the  abstractor  was  the  witness 
and  Joyce  the  woman. 

For  the  moment  the  Captain  was  overwhelmed  with  this 
unforeseen  result  of  his  delay  in  calling  upon  the  abstracter; 
and  what  next  occurred  in  the  Westbrook  morning-room  is 
especially  worthy  of  preservation  as  constituting  the  one  and 
only  time  that  John  Converse  is  known  ever  to  have  given  a 
free  and  untrammelled  expression  to  his  inmost  feelings. 

"The  damned  ass!"  he  ejaculated  vehemently;  at  the 
same  time  rending  the  paper  in  halves  and  tossing  the 
fragments  from  him  with  a  violence  that  caused  every  one 
in  the  room  to  jump. 


[282] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  LIGHT  BRIGHTENS  —  AND  DEMS 

A)DED  to  the  tumultuous  occurrences  of  that  day, 
Lynden's  advent  with  the  published  evidence  of  the 
Coroner's  fatuity  produced  a  condition  in  the  West- 
brook  household  amounting  to  consternation.  For  a  tune 
Joyce  managed  to  infuse  a  semblance  of  calmness  into  her 
mien;  but  as  the  brutality  of  the  narrative  impressed  itself 
upon  her,  as  realization  grew  in  her  dazed  mind  of  the 
callous  indifference  with  which  her  own  feelings  were  ignored 
in  the  light  of  the  mere  sensation,  she  seemed  gradually  to 
sink  as  if  beneath  a  crushing  weight ;  her  lips  became  blood- 
less and  drawn,  and  the  lovely  eyes  took  on  a  wistful,  helpless 
expression  pitiful  to  see.  She  became  strangely  quiet,  and 
it  was  noticeable  that  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  disturb 
her  where  she  sat,  still  encircled  by  the  arm  of  her  silent 
mother. 

Lynden,  obviously,  was  overcome  by  an  intense  shame 
and  mortification ;  by  degrees  he  managed  to  arrive  close  to 
the  open  door,  and  in  the  stress  of  the  moment  to  slip  away 
without  eliciting  a  farewell  of  any  nature,  unless  the  discon- 
certing look  with  which  the  eyes  of  both  the  officers  followed 
him  and  somewhat  hastened  his  exit  may  be  so  regarded. 

As  for  the  Captain  himself,  he  was  angry  clear  through, 
and  for  a  while  not  a  little  dismayed.  His  thoughts  flew 
rapidly  during  the  few  minutes  which  followed  his  hurried 
reading  of  the  article;  presently,  when  he  turned  to  Mc- 

[283] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Caleb,  that  young  man  missed  a  flint-like  gleam  which  had 
been  flashing  the  admonition  that  it  was  not  an  opportune 
time  for  engaging  his  chief's  attention;  but  now,  in  the  face 
of  a  familiar  pucker,  and  an  elevation  of  the  eyebrow,  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  advance  toward  the  older  man,  who  stood  with 
his  hands  thrust  deeply  into  his  trousers  pockets,  a  massive 
figure  of  grim  determination. 

"Mac,"  said  Converse,  "go  at  once  to  Mr.  Mountjoy's 
residence  and  ask  him  to  come  here  immediately  —  bring 
him  with  you.  Hurry!  .  .  .  Miss  Joyce,"  he  continued, 
wheeling  to  the  two  drooping  figures  in  the  corner,  "  tell  me, 
please,  where  Mr.  Fairchild  is." 

She  looked  wildly  at  him,  and  all  at  once  her  look  became 
vacant.  She  made  no  response.  His  eyes  narrowed  as  he 
noted  that  glance,  and  he  addressed  the  two  women  no  more. 
But  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  room,  he  was 
arrested  by  the  elder  lady's  voice. 

"Don't  —  don't  leave  us,"  she  whispered,  with  an  appeal 
that  might  have  made  him  smile  at  another  time.  Quite 
without  warning,  she  clasped  the  girl  to  her.  "  Good  God ! " 
she  cried  despairingly,  "they  will  be  here  presently  to 
carry  Joyce  to  —  to  jail ! "  She  sat  panting,  as  if  she  had 
been  running. 

"  Oh,  no,  they  will  not,"  he  rejoined  quietly,  his  inflexion 
satisfyingly  convincing.  "  Officers  will  be  here  by  and  by 
I  have  no  doubt;  but  Miss  Joyce  shall  remain  beneath  this 
roof  to-night.  Don't  worry,  Mrs.  Westbrook;  matters  are 
not  so  bad  as  they  appear  just  now." 

"  How  can  you  prevent  it  ?  "  she  demanded  anxiously. 

"  Leave  that  to  me.  Stay  here  with  your  daughter  until 
I  return.  If  I  encounter  Melissa,  I  will  send  her  to  you." 

[284] 


The  Light  Brightens  —  and  Dims 

In  the  hall  he  reflected  an  instant,  then  made  his  way 
directly  to  Joyce's  bedroom.  As  he  unceremoniously  threw 
the  door  open,  he  was  met  by  a  startled  cry  from  the  young 
lady's  maid. 

"  Go  to  your  mistress  —  in  the  morning-room,"  he  com- 
manded ;  and  the  woman,  meeting  his  glance,  obeyed 
without  a  word. 

Before  the  southernmost  of  the  two  windows  facing  the 
west  stood  the  small  table  of  which  McCaleb  had  spoken, 
upon  it  an  unlighted  lamp  and  a  wax  taper  in  a  brass  candle- 
stick. A  tablet  of  letter  paper  lay  beside  these. 

After  first  closing  and  making  fast  the  door,  he  picked 
up  the  tablet  and  tossed  back  the  cover,  and  there,  in  young 
Fairchild's  hand,  was  the  code  of  signals.  After  studying 
it  at  some  length,  he  presently  replaced  the  tablet  on  the 
table,  and,  leaving  the  window,  switched  off  the  lights. 

But  the  blackness  did  not  remain  long  unbroken.  He 
was  moving  with- an  agility  which  was  none  the  less  swift  by 
reason  of  its  being  noiseless,  and  as  soon  as  the  incandes- 
cent lights  were  extinguished,  he  struck  a  match,  lighted  the 
candle,  and  waited,  looking  intently  through  the  window  into 
the  night. 

Almost  instantly  he  uttered  a  satisfied  ejaculation. 
Straight  ahead,  but  seemingly  as  distant  as  a  star,  the  dark- 
ness was  penetrated  by  a  single  tiny  spark  of  light.  It  was 
so  small  and  feeble  that  it  certainly  would  have  been  swal- 
lowed up  and  lost  had  there  been  any  other  intervening 
illumination ;  but  there  it  glowed,  a  single  coruscation  against 
the  velvet  pall  of  night. 

Upon  moving  slightly  to  one  side,  the  light  at  once  van- 
ished; but  it  again  appeared  when  he  resumed  his  former 

[285] 


The  Silver  Blade 

position.  A  movement  to  the  other  side  had  the  same  result: 
evidently,  through  the  trees  and  buildings  of  various  kinds 
which  stood  between  the  Westbrook  house  and  the  source  of 
the  mysterious  point  of  light,  there  was  but  one  straight  pas- 
sage free  from  obstructions  and  leading  directly  to  the  centre 
of  this  window. 

He  consulted  the  tablet,  and  moved  his  own  taper  slowly 
up  once  and  then  down  again,  to  the  table.  Immediately 
the  distant  spark  appeared  to  rise  an  inch  or  so  and  settle 
once  more  to  its  former  position.  Thus  was  a  familiar 
greeting  flashed  through  the  night,  and  answered :  "  Hello ! " 
The  manipulator  of  the  distant  light,  of  course,  had  no 
idea  that  another  than  Joyce  was  engaging  his  attention  by 
means  of  this  novel  wireless  telegraphy;  and  Mr.  Converse 
resolved  to  try  the  effect  of  the  most  startling  announcement 
he  could  find  —  not  without  a  clearly  defined  purpose. 

The  code  contained  nothing  that  could  convey  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  the  close  surveillance  under  which  Joyce  had 
been  all  day,  nor  of  the  events  of  the  past  twelve  hours;  it 
was  impossible  to  say  what  intelligence  she  had  imparted 
when  McCaleb  observed  her  with  the  candle  earlier  in  the 
evening;  but  after  a  brief  consideration,  he  selected  the 
announcement : 

"All  is  discovered." 

The  effect  was  instantaneous.  The  little  spark  waved 
frantically,  and  at  times  so  vehement  were  its  movements 
that  it  disappeared  altogether:  it  darted  about  so  errati- 
cally —  stuttered,  one  might  say  —  that  it  was  impossible  to 
catch  an  inkling  of  what  it  intended  to  convey;  and  then  it 
abruptly  vanished,  not  to  reappear. 

After  waiting  several  minutes,  he  presently  chuckled 
[286] 


The  Light  Brightens  —  and  Dims 

grimly  and  muttered:  "The  old  Fairchild  homestead! 
Now,  that  young  man  displays  a  resourcefulness  and  clever- 
ness that  I  admire.  I  '11  wager  he  and  I  are  face  to  face 
before  morning." 

He  switched  on  the  lights  again,  extinguished  the  candle, 
and  quitted  the  room. 

In  the  morning-room  he  was  again  confronted  by  the  cold 
light  of  Mrs.  Westbrook's  pale  eyes.  Her  expression  of 
indifference  had  taken  on  a  new  meaning  for  him  since  he 
had  first  come  face  to  face  with  her  there  to-night;  it  hid  a 
history  of  which  the  world  indubitably  would  never  scan  a 
page.  To  him  it  now  afforded  an  illumination  into  hitherto 
hidden  phases  of  the  dead  husband's  character  rather  than 
an  index  to  her  own  repressed  nature;  and  his  manner 
toward  her  remained  gently  deferential.  Joyce  still  sat  with 
her  head  pillowed  on  her  mother's  shoulder,  her  appearance 
betraying  complete  physical  relaxation. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Westbrook,"  he  began,  "  when  to-morrow 
dawns,  matters  are  going  to  be  in  a  far  different  condition 
than  they  are  just  now.  In  spite  of  my  efforts,  the  cat  seems 
to  be  out  of  the  bag;  but  I  believe  the  worst  has  happened." 

Joyce  sat  suddenly  upright. 

"The  worst!  "  she  exclaimed,  laughing  bitterly.  "Pray, 
sir,  how  long  is  this  suspense  to  continue?  Why  do  you 
delay  ?  "  She  thrust  forward  two  little  white  hands,  two 
slender  wrists.  "Here!  why  do  you  not  place  the  hand- 
cuffs upon  me,  and  drag  me  to  prison?  You  began  your 
work  this  morning  —  tell  me,  why  do  you  torture  me  with 
this  delay  ?  Is  a  prolongation  of  it  a  part  of  what  I  have  to 
endure  ?  O  my  God !  my  God !  let  my  humiliation  be  com- 
plete! "  She  was  quite  hysterical,  her  manner  so  wild  and 

[287] 


The  Silver  Blade 

unnatural  that  he  felt  the  futility  of  attempting  to  reason 
with  her. 

"The  worst!"  she  repeated.  "God  knows  how  bad  it 
is  when  I  am  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  gladness  that  papa 
—  cruelly  as  he  died  —  is  not  here  to  witness  it." 

"Hush,  Joyce!  "  commanded  the  mother. 

"I  will  say  it,"  Joyce  cried;  "it  is  but  the  truth.  Were 
poor  papa  not  dead,  this  would  kill  him!  What  was  it  he 
dreaded  ?  WTiat  was  it  he  feared  ?  Mamma,  you  know ! 
Oh,  God  help  me!  God  help  me!"  Throwing  her  arms 
about  her  mother's  neck,  she  once  more  hid  her  face  on  the 
other's  shoulder,  and  burst  into  a  storm  of  weeping. 

"The  first  time,"  whispered  Mrs.  Westbrook,  unmoved 
—  meaning,  doubtless,  that  it  was  the  first  time  Joyce  had 
found  the  relief  of  tears.  She  strove  to  soothe  the  distressed 
girl;  but  her  nature,  clearly,  had  forgotten  how  to  spend 
itself  through  the  gentler  and  more  gracious  feminine  chan- 
nels, and  for  the  moment  she  appeared  stiff  and  awkward. 

With  manner  subdued,  as  if  he  were  in  a  sick-chamber, 
Mr.  Converse  addressed  the  mother,  striving  through  her 
to  reassure  the  almost  frenzied  girl. 

"I  shall  presently  know  a  number  of  things  which  have 
been  kept  from  me  until  now, —  which  I  should  have  known 
days  ago.  I  hope  your  daughter's  and  Mr.  Fairchild's 
reasons  for  silence  will  have  been  removed.  With  the  facts 
known  as  they  should  be,  Miss  Joyce's  causes  for  anxiety 
and  worry  will  disappear  in  a  large  measure,  and  she  need 
no  longer  fear  that  I  shall  misunderstand  her  or  place  a  false 
interpretation  upon  circumstances  over  which  she  has  had 
no  control.  There  has  been  too  much  that  is  false:  her 
position  has  been  false,  as  has  been  the  Doctor's  and 

[288] 


The  Light  Brightens  —  and  Dims 

Mr.  Clay's.  She  had  come  to  a  realization  of  all  this  for 
herself."' 

"It  was  Charlotte,"  Mrs.  Westbrook  interpellated  in  a 
strange,  hard  voice.  "It  was  Charlotte  Fairchild  who  in- 
fluenced Joyce  to  speak." 

Converse  eyed  her  curiously. 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  she  was  about  to  take  me  into  her  con- 
fidence, when  Lynden  appeared.  Try  to  impress  upon  her 
that  I  will  do  in  her  behalf  everything  consistent  with  my 
duty.  As  soon  as  she  is  able  to  continue  what  she  started 
to  relate,  why,  the  quicker  can  we  get  things  shipshape 
again.  The  whole  mystery  hinges  upon  what  happened  in 
the  Nettleton  Building  that  day.  Retire,  if  you  desire;  but 
I  expect  the  District  Attorney  here  presently,  and  you  will 
be  interested  in  what  takes  place." 

On  the  instant  Sam  announced  that  Mr.  Mountjoy 
was  waiting  below.  Converse  cast  an  inquiring  look  at 
Mrs.  Westbrook,  who  inclined  her  head. 

"Conduct  Mr.  Mountjoy  here,  Sam,"  was  the  result  of 
the  look. 

Joyce  disengaged  herself  from  her  mother's  embrace,  and 
sat  upright  once  more,  looking  to  her  disordered  tresses 
with  certain  deft  and  subtle  touches.  She  turned  to  the 
Captain  with  a  calmness  which  showed  that  his  recent  words 
had  not  been  lost  upon  her:  the  deep  violet  eyes  yielded  a 
faint  light  of  hope;  the  sweet  face  became  rapidly  more 
composed. 

Mr.  Mountjoy  paused  a  moment  in  the  doorway;  catch- 
ing sight  of  the  two  ladies,  he  hastened  toward  them. 

''  My  dear  Mrs.  Westbrook  —  Joyce,"  said  he,  taking 
a  hand  of  each  in  turn.  "  It  is  distressing  to  see  you  thus. " 

[289] 


The  Silver  Blade 

His  voice  was  full  of  sympathy  and  condolence,  but  he  made 
no  further  effort  to  frame  his  feelings  with  words. 

Mr.  Mountjoy  was  well  past  middle  age,  but  not  far  above 
middle  height.  He  was  slender  and  gray,  and  his  thin,  hand- 
some features  were  saved  from  asceticism  only  by  the  innu- 
merable fine  lines  of  humor  about  his  eyes.  However,  he  was 
serious  enough  now,  as  he  looked  to  the  Captain  for  an  ex- 
planation. 

"I  suppose  you  have  seen  the  extra  edition  of  the  Her- 
ald ?  "  the  latter  asked. 

Mountjoy  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Did  it  occur  to  you  that  the  unnamed  lady  was  none 
other  than  Miss  Westbrook  ?  " 

The  lawyer  looked  his  astonishment,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Well,  it 's  a  fact,  Mr.  Mountjoy;  and  I  wish  to  say,  first 
of  all,  that  that  ass  —  that  Merkel  —  never  did  a  worse  bit 
of  blundering  in  his  life." 

"It  seems  beyond  belief,"  was  Mountjoy's  commentary, 
"that  he  would  give  a  matter  of  this  nature  to  the  news- 
papers." 

Converse  grunted,  and  cold  type  cannot  express  the 
amount  of  scorn  he  managed  to  inject  into  it.  "  It 's  done 
—  all  that  he  could  do  to  tie  my  hands." 

Mountjoy  noted  that  the  inscrutable  gray  eyes  were  rest- 
ing upon  Miss  Westbrook,  as  if  their  owner's  thoughts  had 
taken  a  sudden  flight  beyond  their  present  environment; 
and  he  in  turn  looked  at  her,  too,  and  considered. 

The  idea  of  associating  this  girl  with  such  a  crime  was 
preposterous;  yet  the  District  Attorney  had  an  unbounded 
confidence  in  the  chief  of  detectives,  and  at  the  same  time 
he  was  sensible  of  a  feeling  of  dismay  and  alarm.  He  knew 

[290] 


MR.  MOVXTJOY'S  Tmv,  HANDSOME  FEATURES  WERE  SAVED  FROM  ASCETICISM  ONLY  BY 
THE  LINES  OF  HUMOR  ABOUT  His  EYES. 


The  Light  Brightens  —  and  Dims 

her  for  an  intrepid,  high-spirited  girl,  governed  largely  by 
capricious  impulses,  but  sane,  and  at  heart  pure  and  gener- 
ous ;  he  felt  that  she  was  more  likely  to  act  upon  the  spur  of 
the  moment,  and  cope  with  consequences  afterward,  than 
regard  the  consequences  first ;  but  all  such  traits,  while  they 
might  account  for  an  ordinary  offence,  were  alone  very  far 
from  being  adequate  reasons  for  connecting  her  with  a  charge 
of  so  grave  a  nature. 

"  Let  us  get  at  it  ab  initio,"  said  he  quietly,  seating  him- 
self. "Sit  down,  John." 

Converse  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity,  but  slowly 
and  with  an  unaccountable  hesitancy  of  manner.  His  brow 
was  knotted,  and  he  sat  pondering. 

"  After  all,"  he  began  at  length,  "  it 's  going  to  be  a  hard 
matter  for  me  to  tell  you  just  what  you  ought  to  know." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer,  surprised  at  this  reluctant 
confidence. 

Converse  eyed  him  narrowly  a  moment;  and  then,  evi- 
dently, his  mind  changed. 

"  No,  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  anything  —  now,"  he 
said,  grimly.  "  I  did  n't  send  for  you  to  hear  me  talk,  but 
to  hear  what  Miss  Westbrook  has  to  say.  I  can't  anticipate 
how  her  words  will  affect  you,  Mr.  Mountjoy;  but  whatever 
their  tenor,  pray  do  not  forget  that  I  still  have  charge  of  this 
case,  and  until  I  am  ready  — 

During  his  last  words  Joyce  had  arisen  and  approached 
the  speaker.  Now  she  interrupted  by  laying  a  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

"Then  let  me  speak,"  she  said,  "while  I  can.  Let  me 
tell  what  I  started  to  when  I  was  interrupted."  She  turned 
and  faced  Mountjoy. 

[291] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  It  is  true  that  Mr.  Howe  and  my  brother  have  been  keep- 
ing something  back,  but  when  you  hear  what  it  is,  see  if  you 
can  blame  them.  When  Mobley  testified  at  the  inquest  that 
he  had  no  reason  to  believe  any  other  person  was  in  the  Net- 
tleton  Building  besides  those  known  to  be  present,  he  uttered 
merely  the  truth;  he  was  assailed  by  a  great  fear;  but  at 
that  moment  he  did  not  know  that  I  had  not  yet  departed. 
Oh,  dear  me!"  she  suddenly  exclaimed;  "the  truth  some- 
times is  so  hard  to  tell  —  so  hard !  What  I  have  to  say 
seems,  even  to  myself,  so  wild  and  impossible,  that  I  some- 
times wonder  if  I  am  not  the  victim  of  a  wretched  night- 
mare. But,  Mr.  Mountjoy  —  Mr.  Converse  —  I  trust  you 
will  believe  me."  She  clasped  her  hands  and  looked  an 
earnest  appeal  from  one  to  the  other. 

The  lawyer  now  was  grave,  his  thin  features  yielding  no 
decipherable  expression;  Converse's  mien  was  wholly  en- 
couraging and  sympathetic. 

"Pshaw,  Miss  Westbrook,"  said  the  latter,  heartily, 
"  don  't  let  such  a  doubt  worry  you  for  an  instant.  You  have 
no  idea  what  my  credulity  will  stand." 

Again  she  glanced  from  one  to  the  other,  and  thenceforth, 
after  returning  her  hand  timidly  to  the  Captain's  brawny 
arm,  addressed  herself  directly  to  him. 

"  I  stepped  from  Mobley's  office  into  the  hall  that  after- 
noon, leaving  him  and  Mr.  Howe  together;  and  within  two 
seconds  thereafter  Senor  de  Sanchez  was  killed.  Although 
I  saw  it  done  —  ' 

"My  God!  Miss  Joyce!"  burst  suddenly  from  Mount- 
joy.  He  started  violently  at  her  last  words  and  stared  wide- 
eyed  at  her.  "And  you  have  kept  that  back  all  this  time!  " 

"Wait,"  she  returned.     There  was  a  strange  ring  in  her 
[292] 


The  Light  Brightens  —  and  Dims 

voice,  which  was  firm  and  even,  although  she  was  visibly 
trembling.  "  Although  I  saw  that  man  done  to  his  death,  I 
did  not  realize  at  the  moment  what  was  happening  before 
my  eyes.  Please  do  not  interrupt.  It  is  hard  enough  to 
make  myself  understood  when  I  tell  you  just  what  happened 
and  in  the  way  it  happened,  and  I  hesitate  to  go  on.  Dear 
me !  dear  me !  I  know  —  I  know  you  can't  believe  my  story 
of  that  dreadful,  dreadful  afternoon." 

The  lawyer  withdrew  his  concentrated  gaze  from  her 
white  face  and  glanced  at  the  expressionless  detective.  He 
said  easily  and  with  obvious  sincerity: 

"Your  sensitiveness  makes  you  forget,  Miss  Joyce,  that 
we  could  not  doubt  a  statement  made  by  you.  You  may  be 
wrong  in  your  conclusions,  but  never  in  intent." 

Unconsciously,  her  hand  was  yet  lying  on  Converse's 
arm,  and  again  she  turned  and  searched  his  rough  counte- 
nance earnestly.  What  she  found  there  was  evidently  satis- 
factory, for  she  proceeded  at  once: 

"From  the  moment  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  Mobley's 
door,  every  circumstance  seems  to  have  incriminated  me. 
I  knew  that  the  poor  man  was  expected  by  my  brother,  for 
Mobley  and  I  together  framed  the  letter  which  you  found  on 
his  desk." 

"  You  were  there  —  with  Howe  and  the  Doctor,  eh  ?  " 
asked  Mountjoy.  "But  pardon  me;  please  go  on." 

"  We  excused  ourselves  to  Mr.  Howe,  and  Mobley  wrote 
it.  Next,  glancing  at  my  watch,  I  saw  that  it  was  five  o'clock, 
and  I  left  right  away,  for  I  wished  to  avoid  a  meeting  with 
Senor  de  Sanchez.  But  I  had  no  sooner  stepped  out  of  the 
office  into  the  hall  than  I  heard  footsteps  on  the  stairway. 
I  paused  one  instant.  They  were  coming  steadily  up,  and 

[293] 


The  Silver  Blade 

the  person  —  whoever  he  might  be  —  and  I  would  be  face 
to  face  in  the  hall." 

Converse  felt  the  little  hand  tremble  on  his  arm.  The 
girl's  eyelids  all  at  once  drooped  wearily,  but  she  pressed  her 
other  hand  lightly  across  them,  as  if  to  brush  away  an  ob- 
structing veil. 

"At  that  instant,"  she  went  on  immediately,  "I  noticed 
that  Mr.  Nettleton's  door  was  ajar.  It  was  but  a  step  to  its 
shelter,  and  without  thinking  twice,  I  ran  to  it  and  —  and — 

She  faltered  with  an  air  of  having  forgotten  what  she 
would  say.  The  others  were  hanging  upon  her  words  in  a 
silence  that  was  almost  painful:  Mountjoy  intensely  eager; 
the  officer  once  more  impassive;  while  Mrs.  Westbrook  had 
risen  and  approached  a  step  or  two  nearer  her  daughter, 
whom  she  stood  watching  strangely,  as  if  puzzled  by  some- 
thing beyond  and  behind  her  words. 

"You  ran  to  the  door — "  suggested  Converse;  again 
the  girl  tried  to  brush  away  the  persistent  intervening  veil. 

"I  feel  so  queerly,"  she  said;  "everything  is  whirling 
around  so." 

"You  have  been  tried  beyond  your  strength,"  interposed 
the  lawyer;  "  perhaps  we  had  better  postpone  — 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  She  checked  him  with  sudden  vehemence. 
"  I  must  go  on  —  I  must.  If  I  don't  tell  now,  I  never  may. 
Where  was  I  ?  "  The  lovely  eyes  glowed  unnaturally  bright; 
unconsciously  she  lifted  her  hand  and  struck  the  officer's 
arm  with  feverish  impatience. 

"You  hurried  to  Mr.  Nettleton's  —  " 

"  Yes  —  I  pushed  open  the  door  and  got  behind  it.  My 
sole  idea  then  was  to  escape  a  meeting  with  that  man.  I 
did  n't  close  it  entirely.  I  wheeled  about  and  peeped  down 

[294] 


The  Light  Brightens  —  and  Dims 

the  hall,  realizing  that  I  was  none  too  soon;  for,  sure  enough, 
Senor  de  Sanchez  was  coming  toward  my  brother's  office. 

"I  watched  him  with  a  sort  of  fascination,  and  for  the 
first  time  I  experienced  a  strange,  shrinking  dread  of  the 
man  —  a  fear  I  had  never  known  before.  For  the  first  time 
I  seemed  to  be  looking  at  the  man  himself,  —  not  at  a  hand- 
some animated  mask, —  and  what  I  saw  made  me  shudder." 

And  so  did  the  bare  recollection.  Once  more  the  per- 
sistent veil  had  to  be  swept  aside  —  this  time  with  a  nervous, 
agitated  hand  —  and  the  recital  was  taken  up  again,  pre- 
cipitately, in  a  veritable  rush  of  words.  As  the  crisis  was 
gradually  approached,  the  suspense  became  almost  unen- 
durable ;  the  effect  of  what  the  actuality  had  been  upon  the 
tender,  thoughtless  witness  thereof  became  more  and  more 
manifest  —  undoubtedly  a  shock  and  a  horror  too  deep  and 
far-reaching  for  expression.  The  gravity  of  the  situation 
could  scarcely  be  overestimated.  The  issue  now  hanging 
in  the  balance  was  so  vital,  so  momentous,  that  at  least  two 
of  the  auditors  were  in  a  state  of  anxious,  doubtful  eager- 
ness which  blinded  them  to  the  girl's  true  condition. 

"  As  Senor  de  Sanchez  came  nearer  between  the  two  doors 
-  Mr.  Nettleton's  and  Mobley's  —  I  was  obliged  to  widen 
the  crack  somewhat,  or  else  the  man  would  have  passed  from 
my  view.  So  great  was  the  spell  in  which  his  undisguised  self 
held  me,  that  I  did  so  without  being  aware  of  the  act  until  too 
late.  But  I  need  not  have  feared  that  the  movement  would 
attract  his  attention  —  The  little  hand  clutched  the  unyield- 
ing arm  convulsively,  another  shudder  swept  over  the  slight 
form,  and  her  voice  all  at  once  lowered  and  became  hoarse. 

"  I  had  no  thought  at  all,"  she  continued,  receding  from 
the  one  point  for  which  they  were  all  so  eager,  yet  feared  to 

[295] 


The  Silver  Blade 

interrupt  the  recital  of  to  hear.  "  I  was  aware  of  nothing  but 
a  blind,  unreasoning  instinct  to  escape.  I  ran  wildly  toward 
the  door  opening  into  the  next  office,  where  I  almost  ran  into 
Clay.  But  I  did  not  pause;  his  speechless  astonishment 
made  no  impression  upon  me;  I  thought  nothing  of  it  when 
he  hastened  by  me  into  the  room  I  had  just  quitted,  as  if  to 
learn  the  cause  of  my  agitation  and  unceremonious  intrusion 
upon  his  privacy  —  I  was  simply  wild  to  escape,  and  I  ran 
on  to  the  other  hall  door,  where  I  stopped  again.  Other  foot- 
steps !  I  thought  that  terrible  man  would  be  for  ever  in  pass- 
ing, and  I  crouched  there,  clinging  to  the  door-knob  and 
whimpering  like  a  terrified  child.  Then,  quite  suddenly, 
through  the  crack  of  the  door,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Howard 
Lynden ;  he  too  was  going  towards  my  brother's  — 

She  paused  and  placed  a  hand  to  her  throat,  and  all  at 
once  Converse  became  sensible  of  the  fact  that  the  pressure 
of  the  hand  on  his  arm  was  increasing;  that  now,  instead  of 
lying  there  to  hold  his  attention,  it  was  in  reality  supporting 
the  speaker.  It  seemed  as  if  her  will  were  putting  forth  its 
last  effort  to  bear  her  up  until  she  had  finished. 

"  But  what  you  saw  -  "  he  demanded.  "  Hurry,  Miss 
Westbrook ;  what  was  it  you  saw  before  you  fled  ?  " 

"As  —  as  Senor  de  Sanchez  got  between  me  and  —  and 
Mobley's  door,  Howard  - 

"  Lynden  ?  "  sharply,  from  the  detective. 

"  No,  no.  What  was  I  saying  ?  Howard  was  not  there. 
Why  do  you  draw  so  far  away  from  me  ?  " 

The  veil  was  becoming  more  persistent,  the  effort  to 
remove  it  weaker  and  more  unavailing.  Unnoticed  by 
Joyce,  Mrs.  Westbrook  glided  to  her  side,  and  for  the  second 
time  that  night  passed  a  supporting  arm  about  her  daughter's 

[296] 


The  Light  Brightens  —  and  Dims 

waist.  At  the  same  time  Converse  clasped  the  trembling 
hand  on  his  arm ;  he  felt  its  hold  loosening. 

"  Just  one  word  more,  and  this  thing  must  end,"  he  said, 
with  abrupt  authority.  "  De  Sanchez  got  between  you  and 
the  Doctor's  door,"  he  prompted.  "What  then?  " 

"  Why  —  why  —  he  all  at  once  became  terrified  at  some- 
thing in  front  of  him.  Oh,  the  dreadful  expression  of  his 
face !  He  —  he  — 

"  Which  way  was  he  facing  ?  " 

"  Straight  ahead  —  toward  the  end  of  the  hall.  At  that 
moment  his  face  became  frozen  with  a  nameless  terror;  he 
threw  up  a  hand  to  ward  off  the  blow;  but  —  but  —  " 

"Yes,  yes  — then?" 

"  Then  I  —  I  —  saw  -  Mamma,  what  ails  the  lights  ? 
—  they  are  becoming  so  dim." 

"Good  God,  Miss  Joyce,  hasten!    You  saw  —  " 

She  turned  a  hazy  look  toward  him. 

"I  —  I  —  saw  —  "  one  more  futile  effort  to  brush  away 
the  veil  —  "I  —  I  saw  —  "  and  the  girl,  her  face  like  wax, 
hung  limp  and  silent  between  the  Captain  and  her  mother. 

It  had  indeed  ended. 

With  a  movement  that  disengaged  the  motionless  figure 
from  Mrs.  Westbrook's  encircling  arm,  Converse  lifted  Joyce 
lightly  and  deposited  her  upon  a  couch.  The  look  which  he 
bestowed  upon  the  white,  pinched  face  was  one  of  concern, 
and  for  an  instant  he  laid  one  hand  lightly  upon  her  marble- 
like  brow,  then  felt  her  pulse. 

"I  was  afraid  of  this,"  said  Mountjoy.  "How  insensi- 
bly a  man  can  be  a  brute.  Poor  child,  she  has  fainted ;  the 
strain  —  He  paused  suddenly,  catching  a  peculiar  look 
from  the  Captain. 

r»ti 


The  Silver  Blade 

The  latter  shook  his  head. 

"Telephone  for  her  brother,"  said  he  to  the  motionless 
mother,  his  manner  free  from  any  quality  that  might  alarm ; 
"send  for  Doctor  Bane.  Don't  be  frightened,"  he  added, 
hastily,  noting  the  startled  attitudes  of  the  other  two ;  "  it  is 
simply  a  matter  of  not  assuming  any  unnecessary  responsi- 
bility. What  this  poor  child  has  experienced  deserves  the 
best  medical  care  at  command." 

As  he  had  some  knowledge  of  all  things  under  the  sun, 
he  was  also  something  of  a  physician,  and  knew  that  this  coma 
was  more  than  a  simple  lapsing  into  unconsciousness. 

In  silence  the  detective  and  the  lawyer  descended  the 
stairs,  and  that  silence  was  not  broken  until  they  arrived  at 
the  sidewalk. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  asked  Mountjoy. 

"  Brain  fever,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 


[298] 


BOOK  III. 
SLADE'S   BLESSING 


The  evil  spirit  of  a  bitter  love 
And  a  revengeful  heart. 

—  CLAUDE  MELNOTTE'S  APOLOGY. 


CHAPTER  I 

OPENING  WAYS 

BEFORE  Converse  and  the  District  Attorney  separated 
that  night  they  had  come  to  an  agreement  that  con- 
siderably mystified  Mr.  Mountjoy.     It  was  no  less  than 
the  assertion  of  a  determination  by  the  former  to  disappear 
for  a  time,  and  an  assurance  by  the  District  Attorney  that  he 
would  keep  the  Captain  informed  about  affairs  local  during 
the  latter's  absence. 

"Ah,  and  I  am  to  provide  the  red  fire?"  inquired  the 
lawyer,  mildly,  in  his  precise  way,  "  to  see  to  the  braying  of 
the  trumpets  and  the  clashing  of  the  cymbals  ?  " 

"There  is  to  be  no  red  fire.  I  wish  to  vanish  as  incon- 
spicuously as  possible,  my  absence  to  remain  unnoted; 
but  while  I  am  gone  I  should  like  to  feel  sure  that  matters 
here  will  remain  just  as  they  are." 

"  How  long  is  this  absence  to  continue  ?  " 

Converse  shook  his  head.  "That  I  can't  say:  a  month, 
possibly  —  maybe  two;  at  any  rate,  until  I  get  what  I'm 
going  after,"  he  ended  grimly. 

This  determination  was  noted  with  silent  approval;  but 
the  lawyer  at  once  said : 

"  Since  it  is  not  your  custom  to  furnish  material  for  that 
pavement  which  is  made  up  of  good  intentions,  I  will  refrain 
from  touching  upon  your  objective.  I  suppose  I  must  take 
you  as  heretofore,  on  faith.  All  right.  .  .  .  And  how  am 
I  to  keep  you  informed  on  the  march  of  events  ?  " 

[301] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Communicate  with  No.  18  Ash  Lane,  care  of  Abram 
Follett,  junk  dealer." 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Mountjoy's  astonishment  was  quite 
frank  and  decidedly  patent. 

"Abram  Follett!"  he  cried,  "junk  dealer!  Who  the 
devil  is  Abram  Follett,  junk  dealer !  John,  I  must  admit  that 
behind  your  adamantine  front  there  exist  depths  which  I 
despair  of  ever  sounding,  and  —  and  —  '  he  finally  stam- 
mered, "confound  it!  do  you  suppose  me  absolutely  devoid 
of  curiosity  ?  " 

But  the  reply  was  given  imperturbably. 

"  Well,  sir,  Abram  Follett  is  —  Abram  Follett;  his  address 
is  No.  18  Ash  Lane." 

The  attorney  looked  up  at  the  whimsically  elevated  brow, 
the  pursed  lips,  and,  with  a  hopeless  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
wrote  the  name  and  address  in  his  memorandum-book.  In 
a  few  minutes  they  parted. 

Converse  went  directly  to  a  large  and  imposing  structure 
which  stood  close  by  the  City  Hall,  —  the  headquarters  of 
the  local  telephone  system. 

The  lower  story,  given  over  to  the  offices  of  various  de- 
partments, was  at  this  hour  of  the  night  dark  and  apparently 
untenanted ;  but  the  soft  glow  of  many  shaded  incandescent 
lights  from  the  upper  floors  indicated  the  nucleus  of  an  end- 
less activity. 

Without  hesitation,  Mr.  Converse  entered  the  dimly 
lighted  lower  hall,  passed  the  ornamental  iron  cage  of  the  ele- 
vator, now  bearing  a  card  which  announced  with  direct 
brevity,  "Not  running,"  and  ascended  a  wide  marble 
stairway.  He  arrived  presently  before  a  glass  swinging  door 
and  into  an  atmosphere  so  quiet  that  it  made  a  conversation 

[302] 


Opening  Ways 

which  was  then  in  progress  somewhere  farther  on  to  his  left 
come  to  him  with  unusual  distinctness. 

His  attention  was  held  by  the  voices,  emanating,  appar- 
ently, from  a  lighted  room  farther  along  the  hall.  The  sub- 
ject of  the  colloquy  was  so  singularly  in  harmony  with  the 
object  of  his  present  visit,  that  he  came  to  an  involuntary 
pause. 

"But  about  Miss  Carter,  Henty,"  said  one  of  the  voices; 
"  sure  she  did  n't  dream  it  after  reading  the  papers  this  morn- 

ing?" 

"  Oh,  no.  She  called  me  over  some  time  after  midnight 
and  said  the  line  had  been  open  a  long  time  —  told  me  then." 

"Well,  I  sure  would  tell  the  police,  Henty, —  or  Captain 
Converse.  He  's  the  fellow  to  see." 

"  You  may  tell  me  now,  gentlemen,  if  it  is  your  pleasure," 
said  a  quiet,  peculiar  whisper  from  the  doorway;  and  the  two 
occupants  of  the  room  sat  petrified  with  astonishment. 

The  two  young  men  had  been  seated  comfortably  with 
their  feet  on  the  flat-topped  desk  between  them;  one,  it 
appeared,  had  been  pursuing  the  somewhat  exacting  under- 
taking of  coloring  a  meerschaum  pipe,  upon  which  he 
bestowed  many  a  solicitous  glance.  The  other  puffed  ner- 
vously at  a  cigarette. 

"  I  believe  you  and  your  friend  were  discussing  the  very 
matter  that  brought  me  here,"  Converse  began  pleasantly, 
advancing  into  the  room.  "  I  could  n't  help  overhearing 
something  of  what  you  were  saying,  and  I  should  like  to  talk 
with  that  young  lady  —  Miss  Carter,  did  n't  I  hear  you 
say?" 

One  young  man  now  arose  abruptly,  and  after  proffering 
the  Captain  his  chair,  departed. 

[303] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Converse  sat  down.  His  stolid  composure  was  not  with- 
out a  suggestion  of  affability,  which  was  perhaps  the  more 
effective  by  reason  of  its  being  reserved  rather  than  brought 
into  play. 

"First  of  all,  Mr.  Henty,  when  a  receiver  is  taken  down 
from  its  hook,  Central  pretty  soon  asks  what  number  is 
wanted,  don't  she  ?  " 

"Well  — yes." 

"  And  whatever  's  going  on  at  the  other  end  of  the  line 
—  whether  some  one  aslcs  for  a  number  or  not  —  is  pretty 
likely  to  be  heard,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

Henty  nodded. 

"And  Miss  Carter,  I  take  it,  heard  something  unusual 
last  night  —  must  have,  to  hold  her  attention,  eh  ?  Now, 
I  want  to  see  the  young  lady  that  answers  night  calls  coming 
in  on  Main  two-one-two-four." 

"Operator  Twenty-two,"  said  Henty.  "That's  Miss 
Carter,  all  right.  I  'm  night  manager,  Captain,  and  -  "  he 
hesitated,  "  er  —  our  strictest  rule  — 

"You  need  not  fear  that  I  will  divulge  any  matter  that 
may  be  repeated  to  me,"  suggested  Converse,  seeing  the 
young  man's  quandary.  "But  if  you  anticipate  any  ill 
results  from  what  you  or  the  young  lady  may  say,  I  can 
assure  you  it  will  be  all  right  with  your  general  manager. 
Mr.  Patterson  and  I  have  a  little  unwritten  agreement  cover- 
ing contingencies  of  this  kind." 

In  the  end  the  young  man  departed  from  the  room,  re- 
turning presently  with  a  young  woman. 

"This  is  Miss  Carter,"  said  he  by  way  of  introduction. 
"Miss  Carter,  Captain  Converse." 

She  proved  to  be  very  fragile  appearing,  very  blonde, 
[304] 


Opening  Ways 

very  small  and  slender,  and,  moreover,  very  tired  and  unin- 
terested. 

"Captain  Converse  has  called  in  regard  to  what  you 
heard  last  night  —  you  know,  Miss  Carter.     It  will  be  proper 
-  perfectly  —  to  repeat  it." 

She  directed  her  faded  blue  eyes  to  the  officer  and  began 
at  once  to  speak  in  a  quiet,  colorless  little  voice,  as  if  the 
matter  were  of  the  commonest  every-day  occurrence  —  a 
familiar  part  of  her  regular  routine. 

"About  midnight  last  night,  the  signal-lamp  of  Main 
two-one-two-four  — 

"Signal-lamp?  "  Converse  queried,  vaguely;  "you  mean 
the  signal  indicating  that  some  one  had  taken  down  the 
receiver?  " 

"That 's  it,"  the  night  manager  interpellated;  "a  small 
incandescent  lamp  lights  up,  you  know  —  that 's  the  signal 
to  Central." 

"Very  good.     Proceed,  Miss  Carter." 

"  Well,  before  I  had  time  to  ask  what  number  was  wanted, 
I  heard  something  that  made  me  forget  to  ask  at  all;  or  at 
any  rate,  for  a  minute  or  so.  I  heard  some  one  saying  in 
a  loud  voice  —  She  hesitated  and  looked  at  Henty,  un- 
easy under  the  piercing  gaze  with  which  the  caller  was  insen- 
sibly regarding  her. 

Converse  was  leaning  forward,  an  elbow  upon  one  knee, 
the  clenched  fist  of  one  hand  supporting  his  chin.  He  was 
absolutely  motionless,  impassive,  save  for  that  wonderful 
look  of  the  eyes,  which  played  and  scintillated  like  live  fire. 

Quite  suddenly  Mr.  Henty  realized  the  tenseness  of  the 
situation,  the  magnetism  of  the  silent  force  which  dominated 
them  both. 

[305] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Go  on,  go  on,"  he  said,  a  trifle  nervously.  Dropping 
her  glance  to  her  thin  clasped  hands,  Miss  Carter  did  so. 

"The  voice  said,  'You  miserable  hound!  How  dared 
you  make  this  thing  known  to  that  —  '  then  came  a  word 
that  I  failed  to  catch.  Next  the  voice,  still  very  loud  and 
angry,  said,  '  Take  that ! '  and  two  pistol  shots  followed  in 
rapid  succession.  The  whole  thing  happened  in  a  second." 

The  ensuing  silence  was  presently  broken  by  Mr.  Con- 
verse's sibilant  voice,  and  it  was  obvious  that  the  others  were 
measurably  relieved  thereby. 

"  Did  you  then  ask  what  number  was  wanted  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

"No,  sir,"  came  the  reply,  in  the  same  colorless,  even 
tones.  "  It  was  so  remarkable  —  I  was  so  overcome  —  that 
I  simply  sat  there  listening." 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  more  ?  " 

"Well  —  yes,  sir."  The  words  came  haltingly.  "But 
I  can't  tell  what  it  was." 

"Try  to  describe  the  nature  of  the  sounds.  Take  your 
time,  Miss  Carter;  think  hard." 

She  pondered. 

"Well,"  she  began  after  a  moment,  "I  should  say  that 
what  I  next  heard  was  made  by  some  one  pounding  the 
transmitter  with  a  hammer,  and  at  the  same  time  rubbing 
it  with  sandpaper;  that  is  the  best  way  I  can  describe  it." 

"You  know,"  the  night  manager  again  interposed,  "a 
very  loud  sound  close  to  the  transmitter  sometimes  be- 
comes indistinguishable;  it  produces  simply  an  ear-piercing 
noise  that  is  mighty  trying  upon  the  operators." 

"  It  was  nothing  like  that,"  the  young  woman  added,  con- 
fidently. Converse  asked: 

[206] 


Opening  Ways 

"  If  you  had  been  familiar  with  the  sound,  could  you  have 
identified  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.     But  I  never  heard  anything  like  it  before." 

Converse  considered,  regarding  Miss  Carter  thoughtfully. 
Presently  he  stirred  and  sat  upright. 

'Like   being   rubbed   with   sandpaper,    and  pounded 
with  a  hammer,'  "  he  mused  aloud;  then  became  attentive. 

"  Are  you  familiar  with  many  of  the  voices  —  of  the  old 
patrons,  that  is  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  a  good  many  of  them.  Some  voices  I  recognize 
immediately;  but,  of  course,  to  me  the  great  majority  are 
merely  voices,  and  no  more." 

"I  see.  .  .  .  Could  you  recognize  General  Westbrook's 
voice  ?  " 

She  smiled  slightly,  as  though  the  question  were  amusingly 
reminiscent.  "Yes,  sir,"  she  said;  and  again  the  gray  eyes 
kindled. 

"  That 's  good  —  very  good.  And  was  the  voice  you 
heard  last  night  General  Westbrook's  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"Don't  know?  .  .  .  How's  that?" 

Miss.  Carter  bestowed  a  hasty  side-glance  upon  the  night 
floor-walker. 

"Well,  you  see,  sir,"  she  replied,  with  some  hesitation,  but 
also  with  a  certain  air  of  gratification,  as  though  she  were 
glad  of  the  opportunity  for  making  the  confidence,  "that 
while  his  voice  and  manner  were  well-known  to  most  of  the 
girls  —  very  cranky  and  supercilious  he  was,  and  they  all 
detested  him  —  he  was  not  very  close  to  the  transmitter  last 
night." 

Mr.  Henty  coughed,  deprecatingly,  behind  his  hand. 
[307] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  Undoubtedly,"  he  again  supplemented,  "  the  unfortunate 
gentleman  —  I  understood  you  to  say  so,  Miss  Carter  ?  — 
spoke  in  a  very  loud  voice  — 

"  That  is  correct,"  Miss  Carter  broke  in.  "  It  was  only 
because  he  spoke  so  loudly  that  I  was  able  to  catch  such 
words  as  I  did." 

Mr.  Converse  rewarded  the  girl  with  a  nod  of  compre- 
hension and  approval.  "Your  graphic  description  will  be 
of  incalculable  benefit,"  said  he  in  a  tone  of  quiet  cordiality 
that  brought  the  faintest  of  pink  flushes  to  her  pale  cheek. 
And  then  he  turned  to  the  night  manager. 

"  Mr.  Henty,  I  should  like  to  try  an  experiment ;  I  believe 
I  can  duplicate  the  sounds  which  Miss  Carter  described  so 
vividly.  May  she  go  to  a  'phone  in  an  adjoining  room 
while  I  make  the  effort  with  this  desk  instrument,  here  ?  " 

"  Sure  —  if  you  don't  intend  to  pound  it  with  a  hammer  or 

rub  it  down  with  sandpaper,"  he  added  lightly "Miss 

Carter,  go  into  Mr.  Bascom's  office,  and  answer  over  his 
'phone.     The  light  is  burning." 

"  Give  me  half  a  dozen  or  so  sheets  of  paper,"  Converse 
now  said;  "then  get  the  young  lady  for  me,  and  I  '11  do  the 
rest." 

Henty  complied  with  an  alacrity  born  of  curiosity. 

"All  right,  Captain;  she  answers." 

"Tell  her  to  listen  carefully,  so  she  may  compare  what 
she  will  presently  hear  with  the  sounds  she  heard  last  night." 

Converse  laid  the  several  sheets  of  paper  on  the  table,  and 
after  overturning  the  desk  telephone  —  but  gently,  in  this 
instance  —  he  placed  the  instrument  just  as  he  had  found 
the  one  on  General  Westbrook's  desk  and  so  that  it  reposed  on 
the  sheets  of  paper.  Holding  it  with  his  left  hand,  he  hastily 

[308] 


Opening  Ways 

drew  the  papers  from  beneath  it  with  his  right.  The  action 
produced  a  slight  hissing  sound  when  the  sheets  of  paper 
rubbed  together  and  as  they  slipped  from  between  the  tele- 
phone and  the  desk  surface.  At  the  same  tune  the  instru- 
ment itself  rattled  somewhat  on  the  desk. 

"  Those  are  the  sounds,  precisely,"  answered  Miss  Carter. 

It  was  only  a  step  to  headquarters;  but  before  turning 
his  face  in  that  direction,  Mr.  Converse  paused  on  the  side- 
walk and  stood  for  a  time  in  deep  meditation.  Rousing 
himself  at  last,  he  muttered,  "  Now  for  you,  Mr.  Clay  Fair- 
child,"  and  set  off  briskly  for  the  City  Hall. 

Did  he  expect  to  encounter  the  young  man  there  ?  Was 
this  the  meaning  of  his  muttered  confidence,  when  he  had 
signalled  from  Joyce's  window  some  hours  earlier  ? 

It  would  seem  that  he  now  had  sufficient  insight  into  the 
motives  and  impulses  governing  the  puppets  in  this  double 
tragedy,  to  feel  rather  secure  in  determining  his  own  move- 
ments according  to  their  probable  future  conduct. 

He  entered  the  building  in  his  customary  silent  manner, 
and  at  once  occurred  one  of  the  many  incidents  that  caused 
his  colleagues  to  regard  him  with  a  sort  of  awe.  He  walked 
directly  to  the  Sergeant's  desk. 

"  Send  Fairchild  to  my  office,"  said  he,  quietly,  and  pos- 
sibly he  smiled  somewhere  within  the  cryptic  chambers  of 
his  mind  at  the  picture  of  blank  astonishment  confronting 
him.  How  should  any  faculty  short  of  clairvoyance  divine 
that  Clay  Fairchild  had  appeared  less  than  an  hour  pre- 
viously and  asked  to  be  locked  up  ? 

The  Captain  of  detectives  was  tilted  back  in  his  swivel- 
chair  when  the  young  man  was  ushered  in  a  minute  or  two 

[309] 


The  Silver  Blade 

later;  he  proceeded  candidly  and  leisurely  to  take  an  in- 
ventory of  Mr.  Clay  Fairchild,  who,  considering  that  he  had 
been  an  object  of  diligent  search  by  the  police,  bore  an  atti- 
tude of  admirable  unconcern. 

Tall  and  spare,  his  features  somewhat  sharp  in  outline, 
he  was  far  from  imparting  an  unfavorable  impression.  The 
dark,  intense  eyes,  the  determined,  lean  jaw,  all  suggested 
Charlotte  in  many  striking  details.  Although  he  was  slender, 
an  observer  could  not  miss  the  strength  and  virility  of  his 
individuality.  He  was  undoubtedly  a  strong,  resolute  young 
man,  who  thoroughly  knew  his  own  mind,  and  was  deter- 
mined not  to  be  awed  or  moved  by  Captain  John  Converse 
or  any  one  else. 

Fairchild  contemplated  the  Captain's  huge  figure  with 
some  show  of  interest  —  as  if  at  a  loss  to  surmise  what  might 
come  forth  from  a  source  so  doubtful  and  uncertain.  He 
noted  suddenly  that  the  gray  eyes  were  remarkably 
keen,  that  they  possessed  a  glint  like  the  surface  of  polished 
steel,  and  that  they  seemed  to  be  searching  out  the  inner- 
most recesses  of  his  mind.  But  after  he  had  detected  it,  he 
returned  their  scrutiny  steadily  until  the  enigmatic  figure 
spoke. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Converse,  pleasantly,  shoving  a  chair 
toward  the  young  man.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Clay 
Fairchild." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  was  the  dry,  drawling  response. 
Nevertheless  he  accepted  the  tendered  chair,  and  waited. 

"Yes;  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  young  man;  perhaps,  after 
all,  you  '11  do."  The  Captain  was  not  displeased  at  Fair- 
child's  self-possession  and  apparent  determination  to  remain 
non-committal. 

[310] 


Opening  Ways 

"Thanks.  Is  it  permissible  to  inquire  what  particular 
purpose  you  think  I  may  serve  ?  " 

The  inquiry  was  ignored.  Converse  sat  quietly  apprais- 
ing the  young  man ;  and  at  last  he  abruptly  said : 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  home  ?  " 

"  I !  Go  home ! "  his  amazement  was  extreme.  "  Do  you 
mean  that  I  'm  not  wanted  ?  " 

"  Not  here,  at  any  rate.  But  I  '11  have  to  lock  you  up, 
whether  or  no,  if  I  can't  count  on  your  keeping  yourself  out  of 
view  a  while  longer.  I  'm  half  inclined  to  think  I  did  wrong 
in  stirring  you  from  your  hiding-place." 

Fairchild  gasped. 

"Some  explanation  is  due  you,  however,"  the  other  went 
on  calmly;  "but  I  have  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  go 
into  it.  Your  sister  —  " 

"  Charlotte  ?    What  have  you  to  do  with  Charlotte  ?  " 

"A  good  deal,  young  man.  You  will  learn  a  lot  before 
you  are  many  hours  older.  Miss  Joyce  and  I  have  come  to 
a  pretty  good  understanding,  and  it  was  I  who  signalled  you 
to-night.  Oh,  you  don't  need  to  look  so  astonished;  the 
sooner  you  realize  that  I  am  sole  boss  of  this  affair,  the  less 
trouble  you  will  cause  yourself.  You  go  and  talk  with  your 
sister.  You  will  be  glad  enough  to  talk  to  me  afterwards." 

"  Do  you  —  do  you  —  mean  that  Joyce  —  that  Miss 
Westbrook  has  voluntarily  told  you  — " 

"Exactly.  She  has  voluntarily  taken  me  into  her  con- 
fidence. But  it  chanced  she  suddenly  became  ill,  and  some 
things  which  she  fully  intended  to  tell  —  well,  she  will  not  be 
able  to  tell  them  for  a  while.  Otherwise  you  could  still  be 
roosting  undisturbed  in  your  old  garret.  Clever  idea,  that." 

Fairchild  was  dazed.  He  looked  at  the  Captain  blankly, 
[311] 


The  Silver  Blade 

as  if  his  mind  was  seething.  Talk  to  Charlotte?  —  go 
home  ?  —  this  extraordinary  man  had  signalled  to  him  with 
his  and  Joyce's  secret  code?  From  out  the  whirl  of  ideas 
but  one  presented  itself  in  the  shape  of  a  clearly  distinguish- 
able fact :  somehow  his  carefully  laid  plan  —  his  ultimate 
resource  for  turning  the  tide  away  from  Joyce  and  her  be- 
loved brother  —  had  evaporated;  this  unusual  individual, 
moving  silently  and  invisibly  behind  the  scenes,  had  dis- 
covered the  wires,  and  now  he  seemed  to  have  them  well  in 
his  own  hand.  Then,  how  was  it  with  Joyce  ?  At  the 
thought  he  became  suddenly  icy  —  frozen  with  a  terror  that 
put  his  manhood,  for  the  moment,  utterly  to  rout.  But 
abruptly  he  became  sensible  again  of  the  sibilant  voice,  of 
a  note  of  kindness  in  it,  and  he  managed  to  direct  his  atten- 
tion once  more  to  what  the  man  was  saying. 

"But  the  result  of  your  and  Miss  Westbrook's  conduct," 
Converse  was  proceeding  quietly,  "has  been  to  make  her 
position  one  of  the  utmost  peril.  Heaven  knows,  it 's  bad 
enough.  Now,  you  've  got  to  help  her." 

"Good  God!  anything,  anything!"  The  reply  was  a 
groan. 

"Very  good.  Do  as  I  say,  then,  and  go  home.  There 
will  be  no  charge  against  you  here;  nothing  to  show  that 
you  've  been  here  at  all.  Stay  at  home  till  I  arrive  —  some 
time  to-morrow  forenoon  —  when  I  wish  to  see  you  and  Miss 
Charlotte  together;  and,  above  all,  keep  yourself  out  of  sight 
for  a  time." 

Still  laboring  with  his  emotional  storm,  Fairchild  followed 
the  Captain  docilely  enough;  yet  he  had  himself  pretty  well 
in  hand.  A  hundred  questions  surged  to  his  lips;  questions 
of  such  vital  importance  to  his  peace  of  mind  that  it  was  an 

[312] 


Opening  Ways 

acute  distress  to  keep  them  back  unasked  and  unanswered; 
but  the  manner  in  which  the  big,  impassive  man  had  ter- 
minated the  colloquy  was  so  decisive  that  he  could  only 
manage  to  blurt  out  one  of  them. 

"  Stay  a  moment ! "  he  cried.  "  I  '11  go  crazy  if  you  leave 
me  in  this  way.  You  tell  me  to  talk  to  Charlotte:  do  you 
mean  that  she  —  that  Charlotte  —  can  explain  the  turn 
affairs  seem  to  have  taken  ?  " 

The  gray  eyes,  expressionless,  met  his  for  a  moment. 

"Exactly." 

Fairchild  departed  from  headquarters  like  a  man  walk- 
ing in  his  sleep. 


[313] 


CHAPTER  II 

FAIRCHILD  REDIVIVUS 

ON  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  Captain  of  de- 
tectives chose  to  efface  himself  from  the  stage  of 
the  "  Westbrook-De  Sanchez    Drama "  to  a  position 
behind  the  scenes,  two  things  came  to  his  notice  that  had  for 
him  more  than  a  passing  interest.     The  first  we  may  present 
as  it  appeared,  set  in  modest  and  inconspicuous  agate  type, 
among  the  court  notes  of  a  certain  newspaper. 

No.  26004.  In  re  Estate  of  Peyton  Westbrook.  deceased.  Report  of  appraisers 
approved  and  filed.  The  report  shows  that  there  are  no  assets  under  the  will  except 
the  homestead,  which  Is  reserved  to  the  widow. 

The  other  matter  was  embodied  in  a  communication  which 
lay  on  his  desk  at  headquarters.  It  was  the  resignation  of 
one  of  his  subordinates  —  the  man  Adams,  him  of  the  shifty 
eyes  and  stealthy  ways,  whose  manner  the  night  of  the  De 
Sanchez  affair  had  made  Lynden  so  uncomfortable. 

The  fact  that  General  Peyton  Westbrook  was  actually 
penniless  came  like  a  bombshell  to  a  community  that  had  so 
long  looked  up  to  him  as  a  leading  citizen,  a  man  of  affairs 
and  affluence,  whose  very  name  was  a  synonyme  for  business 
acumen  and  success;  but  the  fact  became  only  more  certain 
with  the  passing  days,  though  the  public  learned  little  more 
of  it  than  was  contained  in  the  notice  quoted. 

Converse  sat  musing  for  a  time,  then  he  tossed  Adams's 
letter  into  a  pigeonhole.  "  Going  to  start  a  private  agency, 
eh  ?  Very  good ;  I  wish  you  luck.  Now  there  's  a  place 
for  McCaleb."  He  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind, 


Fairchild  Redivivus 

and  at  once  remembered  the  morning's  chief  engagement. 
It  was  time  to  keep  tryst  with  Miss  Charlotte  and  her  brother. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  cottage  Charlotte  welcomed  him 
cordially,  while  Clay  turned  to  him  with  a  new  interest, 
acquired  overnight,  and  frankly  extended  a  hand. 

"  We  nearly  made  a  mess  of  it,  did  n't  we  ?  "  were  Clay's 
first  words  after  greeting.  He  laughed  at  the  whimsical  look 
with  which  he  was  being  regarded. 

"  But  I  am  afraid  I  am  going  to  disappoint  you,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  I  fear  things  will  appear  more  puzzling  and  per- 
plexing than  ever.  After  hearing  what  Charlotte  had  to  say, 
it  seems  marvellous  —  I  am  more  at  sea  than  ever.  " 

The  other  nodded  a  brisk  comprehension.  "We  are  all 
at  sea,  more  or  less,"  said  he.  "  But  being  at  sea  in  a  rudder- 
less craft,  without  a  navigator,  and  off  the  usual  routes  of 
traffic,  is  one  thing;  to  have  a  stanch  bottom  beneath  you, 
a  stiff  breeze  off  the  quarter,  and  your  course  well  marked 
off,  is  quite  another. 

"I  take  it,  then,  that  after  you  and  Miss  Joyce  passed 
each  other  in  Mr.  Nettleton's  office, —  after  you  went  into 
the  private  office  to  see  what  had  occasioned  her  bursting 
in  upon  you  so  unceremoniously, —  you  were  more  puzzled 
than  ever;  that  you  saw  nothing  whatever  to  explain  the 
occurrence  ?  " 

Was  it  prescience  that  prompted  this  conclusion?  for 
hear  the  answer: 

"That  is  correct." 

And  again: 

"  There  was  no  one  there  ?  " 

"No  one;  no  evidence  that  anybody  besides  Joyce  had 
been  in  the  private  office." 

[315] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Where,  then,  had  the  assassin  been  ? 

But  Converse,  though  his  mien  became  a  little  grimmer, 
did  not  pause. 

"After  you  had  ascertained  that  Miss  Westbrook  was 
indeed  gone,  you  seated  yourself  once  more  at  your  desk 
—  but  not  to  resume  your  work.  Your  mind  was  engrossed 
by  the  recent  episode;  presently  you  noted  that  a  very  famil- 
iar perfume  was  still  conspicuous,  as  if  in  passing  she  had 
left  a  pleasant  evidence  of  herself  loitering  about  your  desk, 
and  you  fell  to  searching  for  it.  You  scattered  the  papers 
on  your  desk;  you  looked  to  the  floor  —  all  about  you  —  but 
did  not  locate  the  source  of  that  delicate  fragrance." 

Noting  the  young  man's  frank  amazement,  he  chuckled 
silently. 

"No;  I  was  not  there,"  he  went  on, —  "not  until  later. 
But  I  found  it.  In  her  agitation,  she  had  dropped  her  hand- 
kerchief into  your  waste-paper  basket." 

"And  that,"  gasped  Charlotte,  "was  what  directed  you 
to  Joyce! " 

"Miss  Fairchild,"  said  the  Captain,  soberly,  "it  was  a 
clue  that  could  not  be  ignored.  You  have  seen  the  Countess 
Zicka  in  '  Diplomacy.'  ' 

"Go  on,"  urged  Fairchild,  while  his  sister  nodded  her 
comprehension. 

"Very  well.  You  remained  at  your  desk  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  longer,  but  never  got  your  mind  fixed  upon  your 
work  again.  At  last  you  donned  your  overcoat  and  hat 
and  passed  over  to  the  Doctor's  office,  with  a  vague  idea  of 
finding  an  explanation  there.  As  you  opened  his  door,  you 
were  still  trying  to  account  for  Miss  Westbrook's  transit 
through  Mr.  Nettleton's  offices,  and  when  your  eye  fell  upon 

[316] 


Fairchild  Redivivus 

the  form  of  De  Sanchez,  no  idea  was  at  first  conveyed  to 
your  brain ;  it  was  so  far  beyond  anything  that  you  possibly 
could  have  imagined.  Next  instant  a  concept  of  what  had 
happened  burst  upon  you ;  a  false  one,  to  be  sure,  but  quite 
natural  under  the  circumstances.  I  can  see  that  it  was  a 
tremendous  shock  to  you;  for  the  moment  you  were  dumb, 
paralyzed  with  terror;  then  like  a  flash  your  faculties  were 
startled  into  an  abnormal  activity,  and  you  realized  that  you 
had  become  an  important  factor  in  a  deed  of  blood.  There 
sat  Doctor  Westbrook,  and  Howe  —  a  stranger  to  you  —  in 
an  ominous  silence,  their  own  faces  reflecting  something  of  the 
deed's  horror;  Alberto  de  Sanchez  lay  dead  at  their  feet  and 
at  yours,  and  with  electric  swiftness  you  reviewed  the  facts 
as  you  knew  them,  —  the  ground  of  contention  between  the 
Doctor  and  the  dead  man,  the  still  bleeding  body,  the  familiar 
weapon  lying  conspicuously  on  the  floor,  —  all  told  an  awful 
story.  You  did  not  try  to  reason  it  out  or  give  a  name  to 
what  you  beheld;  you  were  simply  dismayed,  overwhelmed 
by  a  consciousness  that  in  some  way  the  situation  was  fraught 
with  the  gravest  peril  for  some  one  very  dear  to  you, —  some 
one  whose  well-being  and  happiness  were  of  far  more 
importance  than  your  own, —  and  you  acted  upon  the  blind- 
est of  impulses.  No  one  but  yourself  knew  that  Miss  Joyce 
had  been  there;  no  one  would  ever  ascertain  it  from  you, 
and  you  fled  madly,  with  no  definite  aim  but  to  get  away 
—  to  hide  yourself  safe  from  all  pursuit." 

Clay  sat  watching  the  speaker,  rapt  by  the  recital. 

"This  is  truly  remarkable,"  he  now  said,  with  a  quiet- 
ness born  of  deep  feeling.  "You  relate  the  conditions  as 
if  you  had  experienced  them  yourself.  Could  I  have  im- 
agined for  a  moment  that  the  investigation  was  to  be  con- 

[317] 


The  Silver  Blade 

ducted  with  such  insight  and  comprehension,  why,  I  should 
never  have  fled.  What  slaves  we  are  to  impulse!  " 

"  Aye,  to  the  young  it  is  the  refinement  of  wisdom,  as  my 
friend  Mr.  Follett  would  say." 

"There  was  yet  another  element  augmenting  my  feel- 
ings at  that  moment,"  Clay  went  on;  "do  you  care  to 
hear?" 

"Assuredly.  I  should  like  to  hear  any  conclusions  you 
may  have  formed." 

"  Well,  that  very  morning  Miss  Westbrook  and  I  had  had 
a  conversation  concerning  Senor  de  Sanchez,  to  which  his 
sudden  taking  off  and  the  manner  of  it  were  an  awful  climax. 
Never,  never  again  will  I  lightly  consider  the  chances  of  a 
person's  living  or  dying;  the  denouement  was  like  an  answer 
to  an  unexpressed  wish." 

"  But  now,  then,  Mr.  Fairchild,"  interpellated  Converse, 
but  stopped  to  ask,  "  You  know,  of  course,  about  Miss  Joyce's 
illness?" 

"  I  do ;  but  I  am  miserably  in  doubt  regarding  its  serious- 
ness." 

"  The  conditions  are  all  in  her  favor:  youth,  health,  splen- 
did constitution;  so  you  need  not  worry  about  that.  What 
I  started  to  say  is,  that  I  wish  to  direct  your  attention  to  the 
mainspring  of  the  whole  matter.  To-night  I  must  leave  the 
city  for  a  time,  and  before  I  go  I  want  to  know  what  it  was 
she  saw  in  the  hall.  It  was  while  striving  to  tell  this  that  she 
collapsed.  Poor  girl;  I  hope  that  some  time  she  may  find 
it  in  her  heart  to  forgive  my  persistence." 

For  a  bit  the  natural  seriousness  of  the  young  man's 
countenance  was  deepened  by  the  evident  care  with  which 
he  was  framing  a  reply.  The  visitor  awaited  that  reply 

[318] 


Fairchild  Redivivus 

with  his  customary  impassiveness ;  but  Charlotte,  who  had 
been  following  the  conversation  with  rapt  interest,  now  sud- 
denly leant  forward  and  watched  her  brother  with  some 
anxiety. 

"Captain,"  Clay  began  at  length,  "if  Joyce  —  if  Miss 
Westbrook  and  I  had  had  better  opportunities  of  discussing 
the  matter  since  the  death  of  De  Sanchez,  we  might  have 
come  to  a  better  understanding;  but  I  was  haunted  with  an 
abnormal  fear  of  discovery,  and  I  shrank  from  exposing 
myself  unnecessarily,  because  I  did  n't  know  what  dire  dis- 
aster it  would  mean  for  her  and  the  Doctor."  Of  a  sudden 
his  eyes  kindled.  "  I  saw  her  but  three  times,"  he  concluded, 
"and  then  only  briefly." 

"Three  times?"      , 

"Yes  —  " 

But  Charlotte's  gentle  voice  interrupted.  "Let  me 
explain, "  said  she,  directing  a  glance  of  sympathy  toward 
her  brother;  "it  will  give  you  an  added  insight  into  Joyce's 
character,  which  will  not  injure  her  in  your  estimation,  I  am 
sure.  Dear,  brave,  impulsive  girl !  Mr.  Converse,  can  you 
imagine  Joyce  going  alone  at  night  to  Clay's  hiding-place, 
that  dismal,  forsaken  house  that  was  once  our  home  ?  " 

"  I  can  believe  anything  of  her  courage,  Miss  Fairchild." 

"  Well,  she  did  —  so  soon  as  she  learned  where  Clay  was 
and  why  he  was  there.  I  have  it  from  Mobley,  Mr.  Con- 
verse; the  transformation  which  this  intelligence  worked 
in  her  amazed  him  and  Mrs.  Westbrook.  That  night, 
unknown  to  any  one,  she  went  through  the  darkness,  through 
those  wretched,  creepy  halls  and  silent,  deserted  rooms,  to 
tell  Clay  —  But  I  shall  not  relate  what  she  said  or  what 
occurred." 

[$19] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Indeed,  it  was  not  necessary  that  she  should;  a  glance  at 
the  young  man's  glowing  countenance  was  sufficient. 

Converse  laughed  knowingly. 

"  That  was  on  —  let  me  see,  what  night  was  it  ?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  The  next  night  after  De  San  —  Thursday  night," 
Charlotte  replied. 

The  Captain  nodded  appreciatively. 

"  That  clears  up  the  code,"  said  he. 

"  The  code  went  to  Joyce  in  a  returning  lunch-basket," 
observed  Fairchild. 

"  By  way  of  the  Doctor  ?  "  the  Captain  added. 

"  Doctor  Westbrook,  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Clay,  surprised. 
"Oh,  no;  Mr.  Nettleton's  negro,  President,  was  the  happy 
medium,  the  manna-bearing  raven  in  my  wilderness,  always." 

"  Did  Mr.  Nettleton  know  of  this  arrangement  ? "  asked 
Converse. 

"Why,  yes,"  was  the  perplexed  reply.  "I  don't  know 
what  idea  you  have,  but  this  is  the  way  of  it.  When  I  first  left 
the  Nettleton  Building,  I  went  rushing  through  the  streets 
like  one  distracted.  I  was,  I  suppose.  But  presently  I 
came  to  myself  and  realized,  if  I  wished  to  expunge  myself 
quietly,  that  I  must  get  my  wits  together  and  think  out  a 
plan.  So  I  walked  on  more  composedly,  penetrated  the 
depths  of  the  East  Side  to  a  small  hotel  conducted  by  a 
Mexican  of  whom  I  know.  Oh,  I  was  terribly  upset  —  clean 
knocked  out;  for  while  I  was  in  the  dingy  office  a  most 
remarkably  beautiful  girl  entered.  I  uttered  a  cry  that 
frightened  her,  and  sat  staring  at  her  with  open  mouth.  She 
was  the  living  image  of  De  Sanchez  —  or  so  my  distraught 
brain  fancied. 

[320] 


Fairchild  Redivivus 

"  Well,  there  I  managed  to  frame  a  note  to  Mr.  Nettleton, 
in  which  I  explained  the  circumstances  as  best  I  could, 
dwelling  upon  the  imperativeness  of  my  resolution,  and 
trusting  to  his  honor  for  secrecy.  I  pointed  out  how  useless 
it  would  be  to  involve  Joyce;  that  if  I  was  not  called  upon  to 
testify,  the  matter  would  be  cleared  up  without  her  ever  being 
brought  into  it  at  all  —  in  short  that  if  my  absence  would 
spare  her  any  scandal,  why,  I  would  remain  absent  as  long 
as  it  might  be  necessary.  I  don't  believe  the  Doctor  at  any 
time  knew  where  I  was ;  for  at  the  very  start  we  all  agreed  to 
keep  our  own  counsels,  on  the  theory  that  a  secret  is  best 
kept  when  shared  by  the  fewest  people.  The  searching 
inquiry  that  was  to  follow  was  anticipated,  and  the  fact  was 
pressed  home  to  Joyce  by  both  Mr.  Nettleton  and  myself,  that 
it  would  prove  far  more  expedient  for  the  Doctor  honestly 
to  plead  ignorance  than  to  attempt  evasion;  so  he  was  told 
nothing,  and  not  even  Charlotte  was  given  a  hint  of  my 
whereabouts.  Joyce  was  to  be  saved  at  all  hazards." 

"  Dear  boy ! "  softly  interposed  Charlotte. 

"Lottie,  don't  distract  me  that  way,  please,"  protested 
her  brother;  "you  make  me  forget  where  I  am." 

"And  Mr.  Nettleton  entered  into  this  mad  scheme,  did 
he?"  asked  the  Captain,  much  interested. 

"  He  agreed  with  me  that,  —  for  the  time  being,  at  any 
rate,  or  until  something  developed  to  give  an  idea  which  way 
the  cat  was  likely  to  jump,  —  it  was  just  as  well  that  I  exile 
myself;  offering  the  one  objection,  that  I  was  likely  to  direct 
suspicion  to  myself.  That  was  a  contingency  encouraging 
rather  than  deterring,  and  he  promised,  finally,  to  lend  me 
every  aid. 

"Next  day  he  confided  the  plan  to  Joyce,  who  imme- 
[321] 


The  Silver  Blade 

diately  elected  herself  the  guiding  spirit  of  the  enterprise: 
President  might  be  the  intermediary,  but  no  other  hands 
than  hers  could  prepare  the  food.  God  bless  her!" 

"But  we  have  wandered  far  from  the  point,"  the  Cap- 
tain remarked  tersely.  "What  did  Miss  Joyce  see  in  the 
hall?" 

"To  be  brief,  Mr.  Converse,"  returned  Clay,  "I  don't 
know.  I  was  trusting,  before  you  came,  that  you  yourself 
would  know.  The  little  time  we  were  together  she  would 
not  speak  of  it.  Whatever  it  was,  it  had  affected  her  pro- 
foundly, filling  her  with  a  horror  she  could  not  banish.  But 
J  'do  know  that  she  did  not  see  the  assassin :  she  said  as 
much." 

"  Ah-h-h!  Did  she  say  directly  that  she  had  not  ?  "  The 
gray  eyes  suddenly  narrowed. 

"  Yes.     I  asked  her  if  she  had." 

"  And  her  answer  ?  " 

"Was  no." 

A  gleam  shot  between  the  contracted  lids,  which  obvi- 
ously was  irrepressible. 

"I  am  glad  the  situation  yields  you  something,  at  any 
rate,"  said  Clay;  and  Charlotte  added  anxiously,  "What 
is  it,  Mr.  Converse  ?  " 

He  made  a  grimace  of  deprecation. 

"  Have  I  permitted  my  feelings  to  show  themselves  ?  "  he 
asked,  and  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  I  told  Mr.  Mount- 
joy  last  night  that  I  was  aging;  I  reckon  it  is  only  too  true. 
I  have  a  trifle  laid  by,  and  when  it  amounts  to  enough  to 
purchase  a  little  home  —  like  this  —  say  —  where  I  can  have 
plenty  of  flowers,  you  '11  never  hear  of  me  interfering  with 
any  more  such  cases;  no,  indeed.  You  may  laugh,  my  boy, 

[3221 


Fairchild  Redivivus 

but  it  is  a  fact.  ...  I  should  say  now,  as  a  guess,  that  one 
of  the  three  times  when  you  saw  Miss  Joyce  was  night  before 
last,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

And  so  it  may  be  seen  that,  however  old  the  Captain  might 
be,  he  had  not  forgotten  the  wisdom  of  Polonius's  admoni- 
tion to  "give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice." 
Their  eager  questions  remained  unanswered,  and  they 
failed  to  note. 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  were  doing  in  the 
Westbrook  yard,"  Converse  continued;  "what  you  saw 
and  heard  while  there." 

"  Did  Joyce  speak  of  that  ?  "  was  the  unnecessarily  cau- 
tious response. 

"In  a  way,  yes;  but  I  want  impressions  at  first  hand." 

The  young  man  considered  a  while  before  proceeding. 

"Well,  you  know  about  our  code  of  signals,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  mine  and  Joyce's.  I  arranged  that  code,  and  was 
very  proud  of  it  until  we  attempted  to  use  it;  then  a  diffi- 
culty arose:  Joyce's  inability  to  read  half  the  signals,  and 
mine  to  read  the  other  half.  Still,  the  chief  object  was  at- 
tained :  nightly  we  assured  each  other  of  our  well-being,  and 
I  was  enabled  to  glean  pretty  well  how  affairs  were  progress- 
ing. 

"  But  there  were  one  or  two  occasions  when  I  was  left  in 
a  perplexing  doubt.  I  became  intolerably  anxious  and 
impatient,  and  throwing  caution  to  the  winds,  I  met  Joyce 
in  her  yard.  Our  signals  of  meeting,  fortunately,  were 
never  difficult  of  interpretation. 

"  So  it  was  on  Monday  night.  Of  course  I  was  anxious 
to  be  with  her  at  all  times,  but  then  the  whim  seized  me  all 

[323] 


The  Silver  Blade 

at  once,  and  —  well,  I  went.  I  heard  the  shots  —  just  as 
I  was  leaving  —  but  had  no  idea  they  came  from  the  house, 
and  neither  had  Joyce.  We  differed  about  their  exact  loca- 
tion, but  that  was  all;  we  heard  no  more  nor  saw  anything. 
I  did  not  approach  close  to  the  house  at  any  time." 

"  Shortly  after  hearing  the  shots  —  just  before  you  left  — 
did  you  hear  no  sound,  as  of  some  one  approaching  from  the 
house  ? " 

Clay  shook  his  head.     "  Not  a  thing,"  he  said. 

The  next  question,  "  Did  you  see  Howard  Lynden  Mon- 
day night  ?  "  caused  his  face  to  darken. 

"  Howard  ?  "  he  asked,  uncomprehendingly.  "  No.  What 
of  him?" 

"You  did  not  know  that  he  was  near  you  Monday 
night  —  "  The  speaker  stopped  in  the  face  of  the  other's 
expression.  Clay's  brow  knotted,  his  lips  compressed,  and 
he  watched  Converse  intently  through  half-closed  lids.  He 
glanced  swiftly  at  his  sister.  It  was  quite  plain  that  Lynden, 
as  a  topic,  was  extremely  distasteful. 

But  Clay  merely  said : 

"So  Mr.  Howard  Lynden  followed  her  from  Mrs.  Far- 
quier's,  did  he  ?  What  have  you  to  say  to  that,  Lottie  ?  " 

"  Maybe  not,  Clay,  maybe  not.     Don't  be  — 

"No;  he  did  not,"  interposed  the  Captain;  "but  started 
out  to  look  for  her  as  soon  as  he  missed  her  from  the  com- 
pany." 

"It's  the  same,"  said  the  young  man;  and  again  he 
fixed  an  intent,  half-veiled  scrutiny  upon  the  visitor. 

"I  believe  you  understand,"  he  abruptly  resumed. 
"  Charlotte  is  inclined  to  stand  up  for  him, —  she  would  for 
anybody,  for  that  matter, —  but  he  is  a  little  —  Well,  I 

[324] 


Fairchild  Redivivus 

regret  that  I  can't  express  myself  to  him.  If  you  only  knew 
how  he  has  watched  her,  how  he  has  made  her  life  a  weari- 
ness — 

"  I  do  know  something  of  it."  Converse  laughed  dryly. 
"  If  her  word  carries  any  weight  with  him,  he  knows  it  too." 

As  his  auditor's  look  became  inquiring,  the  Captain 
narrated  what  had  occurred  at  the  Westbrooks'. 

Clay  put  a  period  to  the  recital  with  a  satisfied  "  Good ! " 

"Does  Lynden  regard  Miss  Joyce  with  any  unusual 
warmth  of  affection  ?  " 

"  Does  he ! "  with  an  indignant  stare.  "  Why,  he  's  head 
over  heels  in  love  with  her.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  pre- 
sumptuous conceit  ?  " 

Very  soberly,  Converse  replied  that  he  had  not. 

"  That 's  what  makes  his  conduct  all  the  more  annoying," 
this  confidence  went  on ;  "  it  is  as  if  he  suspected  her  of  some- 
thing. Why,  he  might  even  think  she  had  something  to  do 
with  the  De  Sanchez  business." 

"Sure  enough."  The  idea  was  illuminating.  Presently 
Converse  inquired  how  much  the  young  man  knew  of  De 
Sanchez's  determination  to  marry  Joyce. 

"  I  knew  that  De  Sanchez  came  here  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  marrying  her,"  was  the  reply.     "That  could  mean 
only  a  resolution  formed  when  Joyce  was  a  mere  child." 
He  abruptly  paused.     "  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

Converse  had  suddenly  become  electrified  into  a  tense 
alertness.  He  grasped  the  chair-arms,  as  if  imminently  upon 
the  point  of  springing  up.  Quite  suddenly,  again,  his 
normal  impassiveness  reasserted  itself. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,"  said  he,  with  a  haste  not  altogether  free 
from  eagerness. 

[3251 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  Do  my  words  suggest  anything  ?  " 

"They  do.     But  go  on." 

"Well,"  resumed  Clay,  "when  Joyce  took  that  trip  to 
Mexico,  she  was  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  appreciate  a 
fact  that  later  became  susceptible  of  interpretation.  Look- 
ing back  to  that  time,  she  could  not  fail  to  see  that  his 
conduct  was  then  directed  toward  herself;  that  it  greatly  an- 
noyed her  father,  although  General  Westbrook  seemed  to 
handle  the  situation  easily;  and  that  the  subsequent  sever- 
ance of  all  relations  between  the  two  men,  which  presently 
followed,  was  not  entirely  without  an  explanation.  Joyce 
was  blind  to  the  man's  attentions,  except  now  and  then 
when  some  incident  of  unusual  ardor  instinctively  struck  a 
note  of  warning,  causing  her  to  wonder  dimly,  then  it  passed 
and  was  forgotten.  The  fact  is,  that  De  Sanchez  must  have 
been  struck  all  of  a  heap,  for  he  seems  to  have  inaugurated 
a  campaign  of  wooing  of  characteristic  Latin  warmth,  ready 
to  override  all  other  considerations.  Joyce  is  of  the  impres- 
sion that  her  father  discouraged  this  design  of  the  other 
man's  in  no  uncertain  manner." 

The  speaker  paused.  It  was  obvious  that  he  was  arrang- 
ing his  thoughts,  and  Converse  waited  without  moving 

"Next,  De  Sanchez  appears  here,  and  soon  events  begin 
to  shape  themselves  in  a  way  that,  seemingly,  can't  be  ex- 
plained. For  instance,  when  you  consider  what  happened 
in  Mexico,  and  the  hiatus  between  that  time  and  De  Sanchez's 
appearance,  how  can  you  account  for  the  endeavors  in  his 
behalf  which  gave  him  an  immediate  social  prestige  locally  ? 
How  can  you  account  for  the  fact  that  his  suit  was  not  only 
favored,  but  that  pressure  was  brought  to  bear  upon  Joyce 
to  gain  her  consent  ?  Knowing  that  she  regarded  the  man 

[326] 


Fairchild  Redivivus 

with  especial  dislike,  how  can  you  explain  her  hovering  on  the 
very  verge  of  giving  in  ?  " 

"Did  she  never  enlighten  you?"  The  Captain  was  re- 
garding the  young  man  curiously. 

"No."  A  tinge  of  bitterness  crept  into  his  reply.  "She 
merely  said  her  father  had  convinced  her  that  it  was  her  duty 
to  marry  De  Sanchez." 

"You  did  not  know,  of  course,  that  Slade  witnessed  her 
departure  from  the  Nettleton  Building  ?  " 

"  Did  he  ?  It  is  he,  then,  who  has  caused  all  this  recent 
trouble?" 

"In  a  way,  yes.  He  furnished  the  material.  I  want  to 
ask  you  something  about  that.  Shortly  after  you  disap- 
peared he  addressed  an  unsigned  note  to  me,  saying,  in 
effect,  that,  if  I  found  the  woman  —  then  much  of  a  mystery 
—  I  should  know  who  killed  De  Sanchez.  He  also  said  that 
you  were  innocent.  Why  should  he  make  so  obvious  an 
attempt  to  divert  suspicion  from  you  ?  " 

"I  can't  imagine.  While  I  do  not  share  with  mother 
and  Lottie  the  bitterness  which  the  name  of  Slade  arouses, 
yet  I  know  very  little  of  him ;  merely  enough  to  nod  in  pass- 
ing. The  father  was,  doubtless,  an  unconscionable  scoun- 
drel ;  but  William,  in  spite  of  his  repulsive  qualities,  is  in  no 
wise  to  blame  for  that.  I  've  always  felt  a  sort  of  sneaking 
pity  for  him.  The  old  fellow  eyes  me  often  in  a  peculiar, 
ruminative  way  —  somewhat  as  he  did  when  bestowing  his 
'  blessing '  upon  General  Westbrook.  But  he  's  a  harmless 
crank." 

"  '  Slade's  Blessing,'  "  mused  the  Captain. 

Clay  nodded  and  went  on :  "  You  've  heard  of  it,  I  see. 
He  's  a  little  touched,  I  believe.  He  sometimes  mumbles 

[327] 


The  Silver  Blade 

when  he  looks  at  me, —  a  way  he  has ;  but  pshaw !  I  never 
paid  any  attention  to  it;  his  incantations  are  harmless.  In 
the  early  eighties,  when  the  elder  Slade  closed  in  on  dad,  and 
dad  died,  William  was  still  struggling  with  the  law.  Lord 
knows,  I  have  reason  to  sympathize  with  him.  Next,  his 
father  died,  and  he  gave  it  up." 

The  young  man  asked  how  Slade  came  to  see  Joyce. 

"In  the  most  natural  manner  in  the  world,"  replied 
Converse.  "  Five  o'clock  is  his  customary  hour  for  quitting 
work,  as  you  probably  know;  he  was  just  in  the  act  of  emerg- 
ing from  Room  6  when  Miss  Joyce  ran  past  him.  In  fact, 
he  had  to  step  back  to  avoid  a  collision.  This  was  imme- 
diately after  she  had  surprised  you,  and  she  was  so  intent  on 
getting  away  that  she  did  not  observe  him  at  all,  it  would 
seem.  She  was  running  on  tiptoe  from  the  direction  of  the 
upper  end  of  the  hall  and  toward  the  stairs.  That  is  the 
substance  of  an  affidavit  made  by  him  before  the  Coroner." 

Though  the  two  talked  some  time  longer,  the  discussion 
yielded  nothing  more  until  Converse  was  in  the  act  of  depart- 
ing. He  was  standing  on  the  veranda,  when  he  said: 

"  By  the  way,  it  would  be  a  good  idea  if  you  could  make 
yourself  inconspicuous  for  a  while  longer  —  until  you  hear 
from  me,  at  any  rate.  If  the  reporters  get  a  line  upon  what 
you  happen  to  know,  there  will  be  the  devil  to  pay." 

"  I  can  remain  in  the  house  indefinitely,"  Clay  suggested. 

The  Captain  shook  his  head.  "That  will  merely  add 
stimulus  to  their  efforts.  I  wager  that  somebody  who  knows 
you  saw  you  last  night.  Is  n't  there  some  friend  upon 
whom  you  can  impose  temporarily  ?  " 

The  young  man  pondered  a  moment,  and  presently  his 
face  brightened. 

[328] 


Fairchild  Redivivus 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "I  know  of  the  very  place  —  Mr. 
Nettleton's  plantation.  It  is  only  about  seven  miles  beyond 
here,  and  I  can  walk  it  easily." 

"  Very  good."  Then,  as  if  the  matter  had  for  the  first  time 
occurred  to  him,  Converse  added : 

"  By  the  way,  who  is  the  proprietor  of  the  East  Side  hotel 
where  you  wrote  your  letter  to  Mr.  Nettleton  ?  " 

The  question  seemed  of  trifling  importance. 

"  Ramon  Velasquez.  Mr.  Nettleton  has  done  some  legal 
work  for  him." 

"Very  good.  Whatever  you  do,  keep  yourself  out  of 
sight.  You  seem  to  know  how,  so  I  '11  not  offer  any  sugges- 
tions. Good-bye." 

But  Mr.  Converse  was  still  to  be  much  in  evidence  that 
night.  He  found  a  number  of  things  to  detain  him,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  the  nineteenth, 
that  he  quietly  disappeared  from  his  customary  haunts. 


[329] 


CHAPTER  III 

"THE  THUNDERBOLT  HAS  FALLEN" 

THE  next  Sunday  morning  was  bright  and  frosty.  Mr. 
Mountjoy  was  early  abroad;  his  footsteps  rang  out, 
sharp  and  metallic,  as  he  passed  briskly  down  the 
artificial  stone  walk  of  the  Mountjoy  residence;  ignoring 
clanging  trolley  cars,  he  set  his  face  toward  the  city,  striding 
along  with  the  firmness  and  ease  of  one  whose  vitality  is  in 
entire  accord  with  the  crystalline  day. 

As  he  walked,  he  meditated. 

What  would  Mrs.  Westbrook  and  Joyce  do,  now  that 
they  were  impoverished?  Would  this  news  prove  of  any 
value  to  John?  Would  Mobley,  as  head  of  the  family, 
continue  on  at  the  mansion  which  had  for  years  been  the 
Westbrook  home?  Mobley  himself  did  not  know.  It  was 
true  that  he  could  afford  to  maintain  the  establishment;  it 
had  seemed  natural  for  him  to  step  in  upon  his  father's 
demise;  but  it  would  mean  a  complete  readjustment  of  his 
mode  of  life,  and  he  was  too  old  to  change  readily,  to  adapt 
himself  to  new  and  unfamiliar  conditions. 

And  what  had  become  of  General  Westbrook's  fortune, 
anyhow?  The  circumstance  presented  a  condition  so  ex- 
traordinary, that  experience  strove  in  vain  for  a  solution. 

And  so  on  until,  quite  unexpectedly,  a  familiar  name 
caught  his  eye:  Abram  Follett. 

Glancing  from  the  faded,  dust-encrusted  sign,  he  took 
in  the  details  of  the  dingy,  square,  two-storied  building 

[330] 


'  The  Thunderbolt  Has  Fallen ' 

that  seemed  to  be  sleeping  in  the  Sunday  calm  of  Ash  Lane. 
It  was  very  quiet,  and  he  advanced  doubtfully  to  the 
closed  double  door  and  rapped  loudly  upon  its  begrimed 
panels. 

He  was  not  entirely  devoid  of  curiosity  as  he  awaited 
the  issue;  so  when  the  door  opened  to  reveal  a  negro  of 
gigantic  proportions,  his  countenance  reflected  something  of 
the  surprise  which  the  encounter  afforded. 

"Mr.  Follett?"  he  queried  vaguely. 

The  huge  darkey  grinned. 

"No,  seh,"  was  the  reply.     "De  boss  's  in  de  yahd." 

Joe  regarded  Mr.  Mountjoy's  Sunday  attire  with  un- 
certainty. "  If  you  '11  step  to  de  otheh  doah,"  with  tones 
respectfully  lowered,  "I  '11  fotch  him;  dis  yere  's  de  stoah- 
room.  " 

As  he  was  bidden,  Mr.  Mountjoy  stepped  to  the  other 
door,  a  single  one  at  a  corner  of  the  structure,  and  after  some 
minutes  of  waiting,  footsteps  within  told  that  it  concealed  a 
stairway;  then  it  was  opened  by  the  negro,  who  invited 
the  visitor  to  ascend. 

Mr.  Mountjoy  had  no  sooner  entered  the  front  apart- 
ment than  he  mentally  ejaculated:  "Why,  of  course!  An 
ancient  mariner  like  John  would  live  just  so,  with  some 
battered  and  weather-beaten  shipmate,  comrade  of  many  an 
adventurous  cruise;  nothing  more  natural."  He  experienced 
a  sudden  admiration  for  the  feeling  which  prompted  the  big, 
taciturn  detective  to  keep  his  vocation  from  intruding  upon 
his  private  life.  The  lawyer's  glance  was  scrutinizing  when 
it  rested  upon  the  twisted,  limping  figure  which  presently 
entered.  He  had  deposited  his  hat  and  coat  upon  a  locker- 
like  box,  noting  as  he  did  so  that  its  surface  was  scrupulously 

[331] 


The  Silver  Blade 

clean,  and  he  now  stood  expectant,  with  his  back  to  one  of 
the  white-curtained  front  windows. 

The  visitor's  inspection  was  only  momentary. 

"I  am  Mr.  Mountjoy,"  said  he,  advancing  and  holding 
out  his  hand,  "the  District  Attorney;  no  doubt  you  have 
heard  of  me." 

A  light  of  recognition  and  welcome,  together  with  an 
underlying  expression  of  more  than  usual  interest,  instantly 
broke  over  the  shrewd,  kindly  countenance. 

"Mr.  Mountjoy!"  repeated  Mr.  Follett,  extending  a 
gnarled  and  distorted  hand,  with  which  he  grasped  the 
other's.  "Well,  lawyer,  I  am  real  glad  to  meet  you.  Set 
right  down  there  —  that 's  Captain  John's  chair  —  an' 
make  yourself  comf  table." 

The  Morris  chair  was  comfortable,  as  Mr.  Mountjoy 
instantly  discovered. 

"A  bright,  clear,  frosty  morning,"  Mr.  Follett  went  on 
with  cheerful  garrulity,  as  he  slowly  seated  himself  in  his  own 
chair.  "  Yes,  John  's  spoke  o'  you  often  —  often.  We  're 
old  shipmates,  him  an'  me,"  he  concluded,  with  an  explana- 
tory wave  about  the  room. 

"So  I  understand,"  said  Mountjoy,  easily;  "and  bound 
by  many  enduring  ties,  I  have  no  doubt." 

Presently  he  assumed  an  attitude  extremely  business-like. 
Arising  and  going  to  the  chest  where  lay  his  overcoat,  he 
produced  from  one  of  the  pockets  a  long,  legal-looking 
envelope. 

"  Here  I  have  some  very  important  items  of  news,  gleaned, 
since  John's  departure,  from  the  columns  of  the  local  press. 
There  is  also  a  letter  from  myself  setting  forth  a  good  deal 
of  matter  concerning  a  case  which  now  occupies  his  exclu- 

[332] 


'  The  Thunderbolt  Has  Fallen  ' 

sive  attention  and  endeavors;  having  the  requisite  postage 
attached,  all  that  is  now  necessary  to  forward  tliis  envelope 
upon  its  way,  is  —  the  address."  He  tossed  it  upon  the 
table.  "There,  I  leave  it  to  your  care." 

"  It  shall  go  to  John  to-day,"  quietly  remarked  Mr.  Fol- 
lett.  His  face  assumed  a  thoughtful  expression  as  he  slowly 
filled  and  lighted  a  pipe. 

"  Lawyer,"  he  went  on  after  a  puff  or  two,  "  I  'm  glad 
you  come  just  when  you  did.  There  's  a  matter  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about;  John  would  want  that  you  know  it." 

"Very  well,"  the  guest  acquiesced;  and  with  much  diffi- 
culty Mr.  Follett  arose  and  made  his  way  to  the  mantel, 
where  he  extracted  a  letter  from  a  mother-of-pearl  box 
standing  there. 

"Look  at  that,"  handing  the  missive  to  the  lawyer  and 
resuming  his  seat.  "  Read  that  an'  tell  me  what  you  make 
of  it." 

The  envelope,  very  much  soiled  and  crumpled,  bore  the 
simple  superscription,  in  pencil,  "La  Senorita  Dolores," 
and  nothing  else.  One  end  had  been  torn  open,  and  there 
appeared  a  portion  of  a  sheet  of  note-paper  upon  which 
was  written,  also  in  pencil,  four  words,  "El  rayo  ha 
caido." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Mountjoy,  presently,  "  I  make  very  little 
of  it.  Spanish,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"That  means,"  was  the  impressive  reply,  "that  means, 
'The  thunderbolt  has  fallen. '  " 

Mountjoy  made  no  effort  to  hide  his  curiosity  and  wonder. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  he,  settling  himself  more  com- 
fortably. 

For  a  time  Mr.  Follett  smoked  in  silence ;  then,  ignoring 
[333] 


The  Silver  Blade 

his  pipe  further,  he  confronted  his  caller  with  the  suddenness 
of  one  who  sees  his  way  clear  before  him,  and  began : 

"  There  's  a  machinist,  Hunter  by  name,  who  works  nights 
at  the  compress.  Him  an'  his  wife  an'  a  half-dozen  or  so 
o'  children  live  in  one  o'  them  little  cottages  near  by,  just  off 
Ash  Lane.  Well,  last  night  Hunter  an'  a  dago  friend  o' 
his  'n  stopped  one  o'  the  night  men  on  this  beat,  sayin'  they 
had  a  matter  that  was  a-puzzlin'  them  mightily,  an'  they 
wanted  to  have  a  talk  about  it  —  not  that  the  dago  could 
make  himself  understood  to  any  great  extent,  but  Hunter 
had  him  along  to  kind  o'  back  'im  up.  Hunter  said  what 
he  had  to  say,  an'  the  policeman,  knowin'  that  John  lived 
near  by,  brought  the  two  o'  them  here.  O'  course  he 
didn't  know  about  John  bein'  away;  but  enough  was  said 
for  me  to  ask  a  question  or  two,  an'  I  finally  got  the  hull  story. 

"  Hunter  has  a  boy  nine  years  old,  who  sells  papers  morn- 
in's  an'  evenin's,  an'  when  he  sells  out  he  never  has  more  'n 
thirty  or  forty  cents,  or  thereabouts,  to  show  for  it.  Every 
night  the  boy  brings  this  money  home  an'  turns  it  over  to  his 
mother.  A  good  lad,  you  see. 

"Well,  two  or  three  days  ago  the  mother  found  a  silver 
dollar  tucked  away  under  a  little  vase  that  stands  on  a  shelf 
in  one  o'  their  rooms.  She  knew  that  none  o'  the  family  had 
lost  a  dollar;  she  knew  she  hadn't  put  it  there  herself - 
they  're  not  so  plentiful  in  the  Hunter  home  —  so  it  worried 
her  a  hull  lot.  She  took  all  the  children  to  task,  one  by  one, 
an'  to  make  a  long  story  short,  she  finally  got  it  out  o'  the 
nine-year-old  that  he  'd  put  the  dollar  under  the  vase.  He 
was  so  back'ard  in  ownin'  up  an'  in  talkin'  about  it,  that  she 
just  natcher'lly  kep'  at  him  until  she  drew  out  a  bit  at  a  time 
the  boy's  story  o'  the  dollar." 

[334] 


'The  Thunderbolt  Has  Fallen' 

The  speaker  paused  and  seemed  to  be  much  interested 
in  the  nodding  head  of  his  auditor.  Mountjoy  sat  with  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  pressed  lightly  together  and  his  thin  lips 
tightly  closed. 

"  I  follow  you,"  he  now  said;  "pray  continue." 

"  Not  very  excitin'  so  far,  but  necessary,"  said  Mr.  Fol- 
lett.  "  Now,  hear  the  rest.  This  here  's  the  way  the  boy's 
yarn  went. 

"One  evenin',  a  week  or  so  before  the  findin'  o'  the 
money,  he  saw  a  man  step  from  the  Palace  Drug 
Store  —  " 

Mountjoy's  eyebrows  suddenly  shot  upwards,  and  he  sat 
up  straighter  in  his  chair. 

—  which,  as  you  know,"  the  other  went  on  at  once,  "  is 
catty-cornered  across  from  the  Nettleton  Buildin'  on 
Court  Street.  He  ran  up  to  this  man  to  sell  him  a  paper 
an'  the  man  stepped  up  in  the  shadow  of  a  doorway  an' 
asked  the  boy  would  he  deliver  a  letter  if  he  —  the  man  — 
bought  all  the  papers.  The  boy  hung  back;  then  the  man 
pulled  out  a  dollar,  sayin'  he  'd  give  that  too  if  the  boy  'd 
only  hurry.  The  little  lad  then  agreed  to  take  the  letter 
which  the  man  handed  him,  together  with  the  dollar,  an' 
twenty  cents  for  the  four  Expresses  he  still  had.  The  man 
then  told  the  boy  to  listen  sharp  while  he  learned  where  the 
letter  was  to  be  delivered.  After  bein'  satisfied  that  the  boy 
understood,  the  man  hurried  away. 

"  It  seems  that  the  more  the  boy  thought  about  it,  the  less 
he  liked  the  job.  The  address  told  him  was  in  a  part  o' 
town  the  boy  did  n't  know  much  of,  an'  it  begun  to  loom 
pretty  prominent  in  his  mind  that  he  was  scairt  to  go  there 
after  night.  So  it  ended  in  him  a-goin'  home  an'  hidin' 

[335] 


The  Silver  Blade 

the  letter  an'  money,  gettin'  rid  o'  the  hull  thing  easy,  like 
a  boy  can,  you  know. 

"  But  when  Hunter  himself  heard  about  it,  he  went  into 
the  matter  further  an'  found  out  a  bit  more. 

"  What  did  the  man  look  like  ?  The  boy  could  n't  tell, 
as  he  had  not  only  been  in  the  shadow,  but  his  coat  collar 
was  turned  up  an'  a  soft  hat  was  pulled  down  over  his  eyes ; 
but  he  had  been  mighty  polite  an'  soft  spoken,  an'  the  lad 
knew  that  his  clothes  were  extra  fine  —  a  'swell  dresser,'  as 
Hunter  put  it. 

"Next,  what  night  was  it?  This  soundin'  by  an'  by 
struck  deep  water  an'  a  clear  way  ahead :  the  night  o'  the 
murder  in  the  Nettleton  Building. 

"  What  time  that  night  ?  The  boy  could  n't  say  exactly, 
but  it  was  about  half  an  hour  before  he  got  home.  A  little 
figgerin'  fixed  this  time  at  somewheres  'round  five  o'clock. 
Do  you  see  ?  " 

Mountjoy,  very  grave  now,  merely  nodded. 

"  Hunter  thought  right  off  he  'd  found  a  clue.  He  opened 
the  letter,  an'  o'  course  could  n't  make  head  nor  tail  of  it. 
He  puzzled  over  it  days  when  he  'd  ought  to  been  asleep, 
an'  nights  when  he  'd  ought  to  been  attendin'  to  his  work ; 
an'  at  last  he  calls  in  his  dago  friend  for  a  conference.  Funny, 
war  n't  it  ? 

"  The  friend  thought  it  looked  like  dago  writin'  all  right, 
but  he  could  n't  read  this  particular  kind.  Queer  how  them 
furriners  can  talk  an'  read  some  outlandish  lingo  an'  not 
know  good  plain  English,  ain't  it  ? 

"  Well,  the  dago  thinks  the  thing  to  do  is  to  take  it  to  the 
policeman  on  this  beat,  though  how  he  ever  made  Hunter 
understand  is  beyond  me.  They  does  it,  as  I  have  told  you." 

[336] 


'  The  Thunderbolt  Has  Fallen ' 

The  interest  with  which  Mr.  Mountjoy  followed  this 
recital  mounted  rapidly  to  absorption.  After  the  speaker 
had  quite  finished,  he  sat  for  a  time  still  regarding  him,  evi- 
dently considering  the  possibilities  of  the  incident. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed,  finally.  "  This  is  a  remarkable 
development.  Undoubtedly  it  is  of  importance.  It  is  a 
pity  that  John  was  not  cognisant  of  it  before  leaving  the  city. 
He  must  have  this  brief  note  and  the  story  of  it  as  soon  as 
possible.  I  should  like  to  question  that  boy  myself.  Do 
you  think  you  could  get  him  and  Hunter  here  this  afternoon 
—  say,  at  three  o'clock?  If  so,  I  will  be  on  hand  with  a 
stenographer,  and  the  matter  may  go  forward  to-night." 

"I  will  try,"  rejoined  Mr.  Follett.  "Yes,  I  think  I  can. 
I  will  go  after  'em  right  away." 

Mr.  Follett  did  succeed  in  securing  the  attendance  of 
Hunter  and  the  boy  at  No.  18  Ash  Lane;  and  while  the 
statement  prepared  by  the  lawyer,  added  to  the  newspaper 
clippings  and  sent  that  night  to  the  captain  of  detectives, 
differed  considerably  in  form  from  Mr.  Follett's  narrative, 
it  contained  but  one  particular  which  the  latter  himself  had 
not  related :  the  cryptic  note  had  been  destined  for  the  hotel 
of  one  Ramon  Velasquez. 


[337] 


CHAPTER  IV 

SOME  LOOSE  ENDS 

AS  may  be  imagined,  Captain  John  Converse,  in  the 
steady,  unostentatious  performance  of  his  duty,  was 
not  the  only  one  to  whom  success  signified  a  reward 
as  large  as  the  twenty  thousand  dollars  offered  by  the 
De  Sanchez  estate.  About  the  time  of  his  quiet  leave  tak- 
ing there  was  a  great  gathering  of  soi-disant  specialists, 
investigators,  and  detectives,  like  corbies  to  a  feast.  But 
they  only  created,  for  a  time,  a  distracting  tumult,  and 
were  soon  forgotten  —  with  a  single  exception.  The  man 
Adams,  also  working  quietly  and  unostentatiously,  is  still  to 
be  heard  from. 

In  the  early  part  of  January  three  incidents  happened, 
bearing  more  or  less  directly  upon  the  two  tragedies,  each  of 
them  attended  by  circumstances  that  caused  more  than  one 
individual  to  regard  a  probable  clearing  up  of  the  mysteries 
with  the  gloomiest  doubt.  We  may  not  know  how  they 
impressed  Mr.  Converse,  for  he  had  not  yet  returned,  but 
Mr.  Mountjoy,  and  Miss  Charlotte  especially,  viewed  the 
outlook  with  dark  forebodings. 

First  of  all,  after  hovering  between  life  and  death  for 
many  weeks,  Joyce  one  morning  quite  suddenly  looked  again 
upon  the  world  with  eyes  in  which  shone  the  light  of  intelli- 
gence. Doctor  Westbrook  chanced  to  be  present,  and  the 

[338] 


Some  Loose  Ends 

mother  heard  them  whisper  a  while  together;  and  presently 
the  Doctor  came  to  her,  his  face  pinched  with  worry. 

It  was  characteristic  that  she  did  not  question  him;  but 
as  he  left  the  room,  she  immediately  followed  him  into  the 
hall,  closed  the  door  noiselessly  behind  her,  and  placing 
her  back  to  it,  waited. 

"We  must  be  extremely  careful,"  said  he.  "Any  sudden 
shock  may  kill  her.  .  .  .  Mother,  she  has  forgotten  —  all." 

The  woman  seemed  to  shrink;  but  she  said  nothing. 

"It  may  be  only  temporary,"  the  Doctor  hastily  added. 
So  far  he  had  talked  quite  as  if  he  were  discussing  the  con- 
dition of  some  chance  patient  with  a  member  of  that  patient's 
family;  but  now  a  groan  burst  from  him.  "God  grant 
it ! "  he  cried  tensely,  under  his  breath.  "  God  grant  that  the 
past  may  come  to  her  gradually  as  she  grows  strong  to  bear 
it.  But  up  to  the  moment  of  her  waking  her  memory  is  a 
complete  blank;  it  is  like  a  slate  sponged  clean." 

The  mother  tried  to  whisper  a  question :  "  You  —  you 
don't  think  her  mind  — "  The  Doctor  showed  that  he 
had  been  thinking  of  it,  by  the  quickness  with  which  he 
read  his  mother's  thoughts,  and  hastened  to  deny. 

"No,  no,"  he  insisted  vigorously.  "The  condition  is 
common  enough  in  such  debilitating  diseases.  Were  I  not 
so  upset  myself  —  were  I  free  of  any  personal  interest  —  I 
should  say  it  was  a  benefit  for  the  time  being.  But  I  can't 
bear  any  abnormal  conditions  in  Joyce.  Merely  be  care- 
ful not  to  shock  her.  Please  speak  to  the  servants." 

Mrs.  Westbrook  simply  bowed  her  head,  and  did  not 
raise  it  again  until  her  son  had  departed. 

But  if  the  Doctor's  words  were  reassuring,  he  was  by  no 

[339] 


The  Silver  Blade 

means  so  sanguine  himself:   it  was  also  not  uncommon  that 
memories  so  lost  were  never  recovered. 

During  a  black  night  of  tempest  and  pounding  sleet  with 
out,  of  high-leaping  fires  assaulted  by  gelid  gusts  within, 
Mrs.  Elinor  Fairchild's  spirit  winged  its  flight  from  the  poor 
earthly  frame  that  had  enchained  it.  So  imperceptible  was 
the  transition,  that  Charlotte,  star-eyed  and  sibylline,  brood- 
ing by  the  glowing  hearth,  marked  it  not. 

Some  hours  later,  when  bestirring  herself  to  retire,  she 
laid  her  slim  fingers  for  a  moment  upon  her  mother's  fore- 
head, withdrawing  her  hand  with  a  suddenness  that  marked 
the  swift  quickening  of  questioning  dread.  But  after  all,  if 
the  Spectre  be  really  confronting  us,  how  certain  is  his 
presence!  Instantly  her  intelligence  was  submerged  by 
conviction. 

With  a  thought  of  Mr.  Converse  flitting  incongruously 
through  her  mind,  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  closed  door 
was  locked  for  ever. 


340] 


CHAPTER  V 

MR.  SLADE  RESIGNS 

THE  third  incident  has  to  do  with  Mr.  William  Slade. 
With  the  cold  days  of  January,  there  came  over  him 
a  noticeable  change ;  quite  suddenly  —  in  a  day  — 
he  seemed  to  have  aged,  to  have  shrunk  and  become  dod- 
dering. It  was  an  effort  for  him  to  climb  the  one  flight  of 
stairs  to  Room  6,  and  when  once  there,  a  still  greater  effort 
to  go  about  his  business.  He  began  to  be  late  of  mornings 
and  to  commit  trifling  irregularities  which,  it  was  obvious, 
were  due  to  a  failing  memory ;  the  beady  eyes  —  though 
with  a  waning  brightness  —  regarded  impartially  and  with 
open  suspicion  and  hostility  all  who  approached  him  — 
eyes  unmistakably  like  a  mouse's  when  that  diminutive 
animal  debates  the  chances  of  getting  safely  from  one  cover 
to  another  under  the  supervision  of  an  alert  cat. 

The  change  was  observed  and  commented  upon  in  the 
main  office  across  the  hall.  After  much  idle  speculation  one 
morning  on  the  part  of  a  clerk  and  the  book-keeper  as  to 
the  extent  of  Slade's  wealth  and  its  probable  disposition  in 
the  event  of  his  death,  the  book-keeper  said : 

*'  And  there  's  another  thing.     Have  you  ever  noticed 

him  —  "  he  cast  a  hasty,  covert  glance  toward  the  entry  door, 

and  leaning  suddenly  forward,  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper, 

-  "  have  you  ever  noticed  him  when  he  comes  in  or  goes  out 

of  the  abstract  room  —  lately,  I  mean  ?  " 

The  clerk  shook  his  head. 

[341] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  Well,"  impressively,  "  it  makes  me  wonder  if  he  did  n't 
know  something  about  that  murder.  You  know,  he  was 
here  that  night.  He  never  passes  through  his  door  now 
that  he  don't  stop  and  look  down  the  hall  toward  Doctor 
Westbrook's  office.  I  bet  nobody  else  has  noticed  it. 
That  shows  what  it  is  to  be  observant;  it 's  just  little  things 
like  that  that  Sherlock  Holmes  worked  out  his  wonderful  cases 
by.  I  've  seen  Slade  do  it  —  look  down  the  hall,  I  mean  — 
many  a  time.  He  stands  there  just  as  if  he  heard  or  saw 
something.  Queer,  is  n't  it  ?  And  if  any  one  comes  up  on 
him  suddenly,  he  acts  as  though  he  had  been  caught  doing 
something  crooked,  and  hurries  away." 

If  there  's  any  virtue  in  old  wives'  saws,  Mr.  Slade's  ears 
should  have  burned.  Beyond,  in  the  front  office,  overlook- 
ing Court  Street,  the  abstracter  was  again  a  topic  of  dis- 
cussion ;  but  this  time  between  personages  no  less  important 
than  the  president,  the  secretary,  and  the  treasurer  of  the 
Guaranty  Abstract  Company.  At  this  conference  it  was 
decided  that  the  company  could  thenceforth  dispense  with 
Slade's  services,  and  it  fell  ^to  [the  secretary  so  to  inform 
him. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  Slade  comprehended  the 
intelligence,  he  got  unsteadily  to  his  feet.  He  tugged  aim- 
lessly at  his  untidy  collar  a  time  or  two,  as  if  it  were  too  tight, 
and  when  he  again  spoke  a  whine  crept  into  his  harsh  utter- 
ance. 

"  You  won't  hurry  me,  will  you  ?  Say  you  won't  hurry 
me.  Give  me  another  month ;  time  to  —  to  adjust  myself 
to  the  new  conditions.  You  are  right :  I  am  old ;  I  —  I 
sha'n't  last  much  longer.  I  've  received  a  mortal  blow, — 
not  this,  though,  not  this." 

[342] 


Mr.  Slade  Resigns 

But  the  secretary  hardened.  "  We  're  not  hurrying  you," 
said  he.  "  You  have  till  February  first  —  practically  a 
month  —  and  in  the  meantime  you  can  do  pretty  much  as 
you  please.  Understand  ?  " 

During  the  rest  of  that  day  Slade  conducted  himself  like 
a  man  dazed.  There  was  a  forward  droop  to  his  knees, 
to  his  shoulders,  and  to  his  head;  and  altogether  he  pre- 
sented a  most  unlovely  spectacle  of  irresolution  and  help- 
lessness. 

From  long  force  of  habit  he  did  not  leave  Room  6  until 
five  o'clock ;  but  at  that  hour  he  got  slowly  into  his  overcoat 
—  once  black,  but  now  plum-colored  where  the  light  struck 
upon  it  —  and  donned  his  hat,  preparatory  to  departing 
for  the  night.  The  clerks  across  the  hall,  the  occupants  of 
the  other  offices,  passed  out  one  by  one  or  in  couples,  their 
brisk  homeward-bound  footsteps  clattering  cheerfully  in  the 
hall;  and  when  he  finally  turned  off  the  light  the  building 
was  deserted  save  for  himself  and  one  other.  As  he  slowly 
descended  the  stairs,  clinging  tenaciously  to  the  railing, 
Doctor  Westbrook  passed  him —  also  descending, —  and 
as  he  did  so,  bent  a  keen  look  toward  the  meagre,  tottering 
form  and  the  parchment-like  countenance,  drawn  by  acute 
physical  pain  and  overcast  by  an  unhealthy  pallor.  He 
nodded  as  he  went  by,  but  Slade  did  not  observe  it;  neither 
did  he  see  that  the  physician  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
and  looked  back  at  him. 

Somehow  Slade  arrived  at  his  single  cheerless,  disordered 
apartment.  It  was  dirty,  damp,  and  fireless.  He  lighted 
a  candle  —  so  primitive  were  his  conveniences  —  which 
with  some  difficulty  he  stood  upright  on  a  corner  of  the 
table,  where  it  was  held  steady  by  its  congealed  drippings. 

[343] 


The  Silver  Blade 

And  all  that  night,  and  until  well  into  the  next  forenoon, 
Slade  left  the  bare  table  only  once  or  twice:  once  to  get 
from  a  shelf  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  tin  box  of  sardines.  The 
latter,  after  several  vain  attempts  to  open,  he  cast  aside  and 
contented  himself  with  the  crust.  The  rest  of  the  night  he 
wrote  sedulously,  though  slowly  and  with  much  labor;  and 
when  he  had  finished,  a  considerable  pile  of  numbered  pages 
reposed  by  his  hand.  About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning 
the  cold  enveloped  him  like  an  icy  mantle;  the  pen  slipped 
from  his  nerveless  fingers,  and  he  allowed  it  to  remain  where 
it  fell;  he  dropped  upon  a  cot  which  stood  against  the  w;ill, 
pulled  the  covering  closely  about  him,  and  slept  immediately. 
In  the  afternoon  he  was  awakened  by  a  vivid  dream  and  sat 
suddenly  upright,  his  eyes  once  more  jet-like  with  the  light 
of  a  newly  formed  purpose. 

The  drifting  shadows  of  the  old  Fairchild  homestead 
were  destined  to  behold  strange  sights  and  to  hear  strange 
sounds  before  being  finally  banished  from  beneath  the  crum- 
bling roof. 

Within  the  roomy  dining-hall  a  heavy  table  has  lost  its 
identity  beneath  a  thick  coat  of  dust  and  a  heap  of  plaster, 
sometime  fallen  from  the  ceiling ;  yet  it  is  of  solid  mahogany, 
with  legs  richly  carved,  and  hides  a  warm,  brilliant  lustre 
under  its  coat  of  dirt  and  neglect. 

The  shadows  deepen.  The  chilly  mist  without  becomes 
a  rain,  dripping  mournfully  from  the  decaying,  moss-covered 
eaves,  and  filling  the  old  house  with  strange,  hollow  echoes, 
weird  and  fantastic. 

Without  warning,  these  quiet,  melancholy  sounds  are 
disturbed  by  another,  loud  and  startling.  It  is  like  a  groan, 

[3441 


Mr.  Slade  Resigns 

dominating  all  other  sounds  and  awakening  its  counterpart 
in  every  portion  of  the  building. 

Immediately  uncertain  footsteps,  marked  by  many 
shufflings,  as  of  some  person  laboring  beneath  a  bur- 
den, approach  the  dining-room  door;  a  load  of  some  nature 
is  eased  to  the  floor  without;  next,  the  door  itself  turns  on 
screaming  hinges  to  reveal  a  dim  form.  The  form  enters, 
drags  a  prodigious  bundle  after  it,  upon  which  it  collapses 
as  if  its  endurance  were  quite  spent,  and  discloses  the  sallow, 
marasmic  countenance  of  Mr.  William  Slade. 

He  presents  a  spectacle  of  utter  physical  exhaustion  as  he 
sits  all  huddled  together  on  his  recent  burden.  But  after 
a  while  he  gets  unsteadily  to  his  feet  and  busies  himself 
about  the  apartment. 

Strange  is  this  final  scene  upon  which  the  shadows,  mar- 
shalled in  wonder  in  the  farthest  corners,  are  destined  to 
look  to-night;  stranger  still  and  more  weird  are  the  sounds 
that  echo  and  re-echo  through  the  empty,  dark  rooms.  In 
all  its  history  of  comedy  and  tragedy  the  mouldering  roof 
has  never  sheltered  an  act  so  incongruous  as  this. 

Behold  the  heavy  table  spread  for  a  feast  and  lighted  with 
the  soft  glow  of  many  wax  candles ;  behold  the  flames  on  the 
cluttered,  mossy  hearth  struggling  for  access  up  the  choked 
chimney ;  and  above  all,  behold  the  solitary  figure  seated  at 
the  board,  fingering  a  wine-glass  and  seeking  with  rheumy 
eyes  to  penetrate  the  darker  limits  of  the  vast  room  —  indeed, 
a  spectre  at  the  board.  Mad,  mad,  clearly  mad ! 

Yet,  look  closer  still  and  this  madness  reveals  a  certain 
method :  a  ghastly  significance  may  be  traced  in  the  details, 
in  the  man's  actions  and  the  words  he  mutters  ceaselessly; 
and  although  the  spectacle  remains  incongruous,  it  ceases 

[3451 


The  Silver  Blade 

to  be  ludicrous.  The  fire  on  the  hearth  and  the  wan  light 
of  the  tapers  only  accentuate  the  cheerlessness  and  squalid 
ruin  of  the  place  —  of  Slade  himself,  and  of  that  spread 
table  which  is  a  thing  to  shrink  from. 

There  are  two  covers  laid  —  even  a  bouquet  of  hothouse 
roses,  somewhat  wilted  and  crushed  from  having  been  too 
tightly  packed  in  the  bundle.  But  where  is  the  guest  of  this 
eerie  banquet  ?  Has  one  of  the  shadows  been  summoned 
forth  from  the  dismal  chambers  to  share  it  ? 

The  second  chair  is  oddly  decked  with  fabrics  of  faded 
hue  and  ancient  design,  inasmuch  as  they  are  plainly  articles 
of  feminine  apparel  marking  a  mode  dead  these  twoscore 
years.  Most  conspicuous  of  these  decorations  is  a  faded 
lavender  skirt  of  silk  with  many  flounces,  cut  long,  long  ago, 
not  to  fit  any  woman's  shape,  but  with  the  prodigality  de- 
manded by  the  wide  hoop  of  the  period.  The  garments 
were  arranged  on  the  chair  with  an  obvious  attempt  to  suggest 
a  human  occupant;  but  the  effect  is  ghostly  and  repulsive, 
the  semblance  pitiful. 

It  is  unlikely  that  Mr.  Slade  could  have  found  anything 
with  which  he  was  less  familiar  than  champagne,  unless 
indeed  it  were  the  art  of  presiding  at  such  a  feast  as  this  one 
pretended  to  be;  for,  witness!  —  merely  two  spoons  and  forks 
and  glasses  served  all  requirements.  Mere  ghost  of  a  dinner 
—  a  shadow  among  the  innumerable  other  shadows  of  the 
place  Slade's  gaucherie  was  not  even  relieved  by  a  hint 
that  he  had  ever  been  present  at  an  actuality  of  the  kind. 
The  wine  mounted  quickly  to  his  head  and  infused  a  tempo- 
rary vitality  into  his  dry  frame;  the  lack-lustre  eyes  became 
jet-like  once  more;  even  a  tinge  of  color  glowed  feverishly 
in  his  sallow  cheek;  more  wonderful  still,  his  tongue  was 

[3461 


Mr.  Slade  Resigns 

loosened  to  an  unwonted  loquacity.  But  his  voice  remained 
harsh  and  rasping,  his  movements  stiff  and  awkward,  and 
no  slumbering  trace  of  amiability  was  quickened  into  life. 

Clumsily  he  opened  the  bottles,  losing  half  their  con- 
tents as  he  dodged  to  escape  the  flying  corks. 

"  Drink,  my  dear,"  he  said,  nodding  to  he  draped  chair 
with  a  sorry  attempt  at  joviality.  "That's  right.  Great 
thing,  champagne;  sorry  I  did  n't  know  it  before." 
He  leaned  across  the  table  and  tried  to  fill  the  second  glass, 
already  full  many  times  over,  and  gave  the  sopping  cloth, 
which  had  been  spread  regardless  of  the  dust,  another  liba- 
tion. "  Drink.  Drink  and  be  merry,  as  the  old  saying  is  — 
Epicurus,  eh  ?  Wonderful  how  it  warms  your  heart.  .  .  . 
And  to  think  I  never  knew  how  champagne  could  fire  one ! " 
He  tossed  off  the  contents  of  his  own  gla^s  and  clacked  his 
tongue. 

"But  I  have  been  working,"  he  went  on  with  sudden 
cunning;  "working  for  you,  Elinor.  This  is  our  home- 
coming; all  my  life,  my  dear,  I  've  pictured  you  and  me 
sitting  here  and  facing  each  other,  and  the  niggers  waiting 
on  us.  Niggers  'fraid  to  come,  damn  'em!  But 's  all 
yours  —  within  bounds,  of  course  —  within  bounds.  I  'm 
rich,  I  am  —  moderately  so  —  perhaps  not  rich,  but  enough ; 
with  economy,  enough  for  comfort.  "  He  waved  the  glass 
about  at  arm's  length,  noticed  that  it  was  empty,  and  refilled 
it.  "  All  yours  —  and  mine.  And  here  we  are !  I  forget 
the  past  —  's  all  wiped  out  —  your  children  shall  be  my 
God,  and  my  children  your—  You  know;  's  in  the  Bible. 
Wherever  I  goest  you  goest  — 

There  was  a  phonetic  allusion  in  the  repeated  verb  that 
cast  a  sudden  damper  over  his  exuberant  spirits. 

[347] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Ghost!"  he  muttered,  bending  a  dark  look  upon  the 
lavender  skirt,  the  time-stained  cashmere  shawl,  the  yellow 
bit  of  lace  that  adorned  the  chair  facing  him.  Sitting  so,  he 
fell  into  a  long,  brooding  silence. 

The  fire  slowly  sank  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  candles 
guttered  unheeded  down  on  the  table.  Without,  the  rain 
had  settled  into  a  steady  downpour,  its  unbroken  roar 
being  intensified,  in  a  muffled  way,  by  the  vast,  empty  house; 
a  cold,  penetrating  wintry  rain,  such  as  drives  the  belated 
wayfarer  to  shelter  however  scant,  and  early  empties  the 
drenched  streets  of  every  living  thing.  And  with  a  fre- 
quency growing  more  insistent  as  the  minutes  pass,  the 
chill  and  the  damp  strike  to  Slade's  very  heart.  Often 
now  he  fumbles  with  bottles  and  fills  his  glass  —  never  for- 
getting the  one  opposite  him,  though  it  is  never  emptied  - 
and  at  length  the  black  mood  is  driven  forth,  only  to  stand 
once  more  at  his  elbow.  Of  a  sudden  he  laughs  harshly  - 
a  laugh  that  certainly  would  have  startled  any  occupant  of 
the  room,  had  one  been  present  to  hear,  for  the  laugh  was 
both  bitter  and  malignant. 

"  Come,  drink  up,  m'  dear.  You  're  no  ghos' —  not 
you!  Ha!"  The  glass  rattled  upon  his  teeth.  "That 
damn'  Peyton  Wes'brook;  he  's  a  ghos',  hey?  Well,  he  is. 
Here  's  to  the  ghos'.  Thought  he  'd  get  you,  Elinor;  but 
you're  no  ghos' —  's  lie,  tha  's  what  't  is  —  lie.  You  're 
mine.  All  mine  —  house  —  money  —  you  —  all  mine,  at 
las'.  We'll  show  'em,  curse  'em!"  His  unsteady  hand 
overturned  the  brimming  glass,  but  he  poured  on'just  the 
same;  and  when  presently  he  noticed  that  the  bottle  was 
drained,  he  threw  it  with  a  wild  laugh  to  a  far  dark  corner, 
where  it  splintered  against  the  panelling  with  a  crash  of  sound 

[348] 


Mr.  Slade  Resigns 

that  awed  and  frightened  even  him.  But  the  vapors  of  the 
wine  had  too  firm  a  hold  on  his  brain  for  the  feeling  to  re- 
main. He  laughed  again,  and  went  on  with  his  mad 
monologue. 

"  Happy  at  las',  too,  El'nor.  Been  savin'  all  for  you,  m' 
dear.  Ever  hear  me  sing,  hey  ?  Remember  this  ?  Listen." 

And,  mirabile  dictu,  in  a  voice  cracked,  quavering,  and 
harsh,  William  Slade  burst  into  song. 

It  is  needless  to  linger  over  this  horrid  banquet.  It  ended 
abruptly,  with  a  jar  of  breaking  glass.  In  the  midst  of  a 
wild,  discordant  song  something  like  intelligence  flashed  for 
a  moment  in  the  beady  eyes;  the  singer  paused,  as  if  his 
drugged  sensibilities  had  suddenly  awakened  to  a  distant 
call;  then  came  that  dreadful  laugh  again. 

"  It 's  a  farce ! "  he  muttered,  bitterly,  his  eyes  roving 
wildly  about,  as  if  he  felt  and  feared  another  Presence. 
"  You  're  dead !  dead !  and  as  far  from  me  as  everything  I 
ever  wanted  in  my  life.  .  .  .  God ! " 

He  was  standing  then,  and  attempted  to  hurl  the  glass  at 
the  empty  chair. 

"Curse  you!"  he  shrieked  in  a  frenzied  outburst,  and 
again,  "  Curse  you !  Curse  you  all ! " 

He  dropped,  his  face  striking  upon  the  table  with  a  thud; 
his  arms  were  stretched  straight  in  front  of  him.  across  the 
board,  and  he  remained  so,  breathing  stertorously.  After 
some  minutes  he  began  to  hiccough  with  such  violence  that 
his  shoulders  heaved  spasmodically  and  his  foot  scraped  on 
the  floor.  But  these  convulsions,  by  and  by,  came  to  be 
marked  with  longer  intervals  between  them,  and  finally  his 
shoulders  lifted  once  and  subsided  in  a  single,  long,  slow 
exhalation. 

[349] 


The  Silver  Blade 

The  rain  still  reverberated  from  the  roof;    the  candles 
flickered  out  one  by  one;  occasionally  the  dull  embers  in  the 
fireplace   crackled  faintly  until  they   too  became   cold  — 
nothing  but  gray,  sodden  ashes. 

Then  it  was  that  the  wan  light  of  day  began  to  show 
through  the  boarded  windows;  the  shadows  once  more  to 
flit  through  the  chambers  and  the  echoing  halls;  then  it 
was  that  a  venturesome  mouse  advanced  to  the  centre  of  the 
floor,  where,  in  the  untouched  comestibles  of  last  night's 
feast,  he  discovered  enough  to  maintain  himself  and  his 
colony  royally  for  many  weeks. 

And  encountering  nothing  to  alarm  him,  he  remained. 


[350] 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  ARREST 

IT  is  in  life's  supreme  moments  that  destiny  calls  the 
loudest. 

Miss  Charlotte  stands  in  the  Westbrook  morning- 
room,  her  demeanor  plainly  indicating  nervousness  and 
irresolution.  From  time  to  time  she  looks  in  a  hesitating 
way  at  Doctor  Westbrook's  broad  back,  as  he  stares  out  of 
the  window.  Presently  she  speaks,  as  if  with  an  effort; 
but  her  deliciously  soft  and  gentle  voice  in  its  free  and  ex 
pressive  play  falls  upon  the  listener's  ears  so  like  a  harmony 
struck  from  silver  strings,  that  to  say  it  breaks  the  silence  is 
to  use  a  phrase  too  harsh. 

"  I  don't  consider  our  age  —  that  is,  seriously,"  she  is 
saying;  "but,  Mobley,  there  are  other  things." 

She  paused  and  contemplated  his  back  a  moment. 

"  If  what  you  see  from  that  window  is  of  more  consequence 
than  what  I  am  saying,"  she  observed,  "I  will  — " 

The  Doctor   wheeled   about   instantly,    before   she   had 
done. 

"Believe  me,  Charlotte,"  he  made  haste  to  protest,  "you 
had  my  undivided  attention.    I  saw  nothing  out  of  the  window 
—  or  elsewhere;  I  was  conscious  only  of  your  words." 

His  obvious  sincerity  satisfied  her.     She  smiled  and  pro- 
ceeded, the  man  watching  her  with  sober,  thoughtful  eyes. 

"I  will  confess  something  to  you,  Mobley,  and  perhaps 
you  will  understand  better  —  why  —  why  I  hesitate."     She 

[351] 


The  Silver  Blade 

paused  again,  and  the  Doctor  could  see  that  she  was  trying 
to  overcome  a  nervousness  and  embarrassment  quite  foreign 
to  her  nature.  But  she  conquered  this  feeling  at  once,  and 
went  on. 

"Mobley,"  with  added  earnestness,  her  lustrous  eyes 
bravely  meeting  his,  "  I  am  possessed  of  a  pride  so  strong 
that  I  am  afraid  it  is  greater  than  my  love.  What  a  poor, 
miserable,  wretched  affection  my  love  for  you  must  be!  I 
am  ashamed  of  it." 

"Oh,  dear  girl,"  he  commenced  with  abrupt  impetuosity; 
but  she  stopped  him. 

"No,  no;  let  me  finish.  All  my  life,  Mobley,  I  have 
lived  more  or  less  in  the  past.  In  my  fancies  we  have  not 
been  poor;  to  me  the  poor  little  cottage  we  have  called  home 
has  indeed  been  a  home;  and  the  dear  old  home  that  is  sink- 
ing so  rapidly  into  irremediable  ruin  only  a  phantasm  of  what 
might  have  been.  But  when  I  think  of  home,  Mobley,  the 
old  place  rises  in  my  mind.  It  has  been  my  constant  yearn- 
ing that  it  may  be  rehabilitated;  that  mamma,  Clay,  and 
I  might  once  more  foregather  beneath  its  roof  in  the  circum- 
stances which  I  cannot  help  feeling  are  ours  by  right;  and 
for  this  consummation  I  have  looked  to  Clay  with  an  un- 
faltering faith.  Perhaps  it  is  wicked,  Mobley,  but  I  cannot 
help  it.  If  you  take  me,  I  want  it  to  be  from  such  a  station ; 
not  like  a  mendicant  creeping  to  shelter.  Oh,  I  could  not 
bear  that!" 

The  man  was  profoundly  affected,  shaken  to  the  very 
depths  of  his  nature;  but  he  felt  that  he  understood  her; 
and  so  great  was  his  respect  for  this  unexpected  confidence, 
that,  chaotic  and  fanciful  as  its  tenor  might  be,  he  exerted  a 
mighty  effort  to  restrain  a  swelling  tide  that  threatened  to 

[352] 


AT  TIMKS  CII.VHI  OTTI:  BECAME  BEAUTIFUL;  A  WARM  TIDE  OF  COLOR  MOUNTED  TO  HER 
CHEEKS;  HER  HEAD  BECAME  REGALLY  ERECT. 


An  Arrest 

sweep  him  from  his  feet  and  leave  him  pouring  out  his 
passion  in  fervid  incoherencies,  kneeling  there  before  her. 

"Charlotte,  I  can  only  repeat  that  I  love  you.  I  have 
waited.  But,  dearest,  now  —  now,"  he  came  quickly  close 
up  to  her,  "  now  can  you  make  this  confession  and  still  hesi- 
tate? Can  you  look  at  me  and  still  say  that  any  obstacle 
stands  between  us?  Oh!  Charlotte,  Charlotte!  My  love 
can  no  longer  be  denied ! " 

Her  eyes  were  downcast,  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  tumultu- 
ously;  but  when  he  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms,  she 
stopped  him. 

"Oh,  don't  — don't,  Mobley,"  in  a  whisper.  "There 
are  —  there  are  other  things."  Although  he  obeyed  her,  he 
stood  with  arms  outstretched,  his  attitude  an  impassioned 
appeal  from  which  the  woman  turned  away  her  eyes. 

"Since  you  have  been  here  with  Joyce,"  he  resumed, 
after  a  moment,  "it  has  been  a  delight  to  watch  you  go 
about  the  house;  for  it  made  it  so  easy  to  fancy  that  you 
would  come  and  go  thus  always.  Charlotte,  dear  heart, 
look  at  me." 

Slowly  the  beautiful  eyes,  suffused  with  wonderful  soft- 
ness and  light,  rose  to  the  appealing  hands,  to  his  own  eager 
orbs,  and  straightway  dropped  again. 

"  Charlotte,  will  you  not  stay  ?     Dear  ?  " 

"Mobley,  I  — I  can't." 

Quite  suddenly  she  clenched  her  slim  fingers  together  in 
a  little  gesture  of  helplessness.  Her  next  words  were  incon- 
sequential. 

"  Oh,  why  does  not  Mr.  Converse  return  ?  Where  can  he 
be  ?  Has  he  abandoned  us  ?  " 

The  Doctor,  being  ignorant  of  the  connecting  links  of 
[353] 


The  Silver  Blade 

thought,  may  be  pardoned  if,  at  this  momentous  juncture, 
he  mentally  consigned  the  Captain  to  the  limbo  of  eternal 
darkness.  His  arms  dropped,  and  he  asked,  wonderingly, 

"  What  has  he  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"Mobley,  can't  you  understand?"  She  laid  a  hand 
lightly  upon  his  broad  chest,  regarding  him  now  with  a 
look  of  anxious  seriousness. 

"I  said  there  were  other  things,"  she  went  on;  "that 
there  was  something  else  we  must  consider  before  we  think 
of  —  of  our  own  happiness.  This  awful  cloud  still  hangs 
over  us,  and  until  it  is  cleared  away,  I  am  afraid.  It  is  self- 
ish —  wrong  —  for  us  to  consider  our  own  happiness  at  such 
a  time.  He  is  the  only  one  who  can  clear  that  cloud  away, 
Mobley.  Oh,  why  does  n't  he  come  ?  It  is  time !  It  is 
time!" 

Doctor  Westbrook's  impatience  evinced  itself  only  by  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  I  have  no  such  hope,"  said  he.  "  He  's  like  all  the  rest 
of  them;  unless  a  thing  's  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff,  he  can't 
do  any  more  than  an  ordinary  mortal, —  unless,  again,  it 's 
further  to  complicate  matters  and  cause  more  trouble.  Why 
does  n't  he  come,  indeed!  He  will,  perhaps,  when  the  whole 
affair  has  had  time  to  die  of  inanition." 

Now,  neither  of  them  had  heard  footsteps  in  the  hall,  so 
deeply  were  they  engrossed,  and  when  a  sudden  knock  was 
struck  upon  the  door,  both  started.  Charlotte  sat  down  in 
some  confusion,  and,  after  a  second's  hesitation,  the  Doctor 
called,  "Come  in,"  his  tone  betraying  his  vexation  at  the 
interruption. 

The  door  opened  barely  wide  enough  to  admit  a  tall, 
slender  man,  a  stranger  to  Charlotte,  but  one  whose  features 

[3541 


An  Arrest 

were  somehow  familiar.  The  movement  was  silent  and 
stealthy.  His  look  shot  about  the  entire  apartment,  ap- 
parently without  noting  its  two  human  occupants.  He 
noiselessly  closed  the  door  again,  and  placed  his  back  against 
it.  Charlotte  glanced  at  the  physician  and  perceived  that 
he  was  regarding  the  intruder  with  frank  disfavor  and  an 
annoyance  he  did  not  attempt  to  conceal. 

"  Your  name  's  Adams,  is  it  not  ? "  the  Doctor  sharply 
asked. 

The  man  ducked  his  head  in  a  swift  bow  of  acknowledg- 
ment. When  he  stood  upright  again  he  held  a  card  in  his 
hand.  The  action  was  like  a  sleight-of-hand  performance, 
so  quickly  was  it  done;  for  Charlotte  was  entirely  unable 
to  see  where  that  card  came  from. 

The  Doctor  ignored  it;  while  Adams,  in  nowise  abashed, 
said: 

"  Yes,  sir,  Doctor  Westbrook, — Adams.  Septimus  Adams  ; 
Magnolia  Investigating  Agency."  He  discomfited  Charlotte 
by  turning  abruptly  and  thrusting  the  card  at  her. 

"Here,  never  mind  that,"  said  Doctor  Westbrook,  with 
a  brusqueness  that  caused  Charlotte  to  wonder.  "How 
did  you  get  in  here  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

Adams  ran  a  finger  around  the  inside  of  his  collar,  an 
action  which  betrayed  an  astonishing  limberness  of  neck. 

"Well,  Doctor,"  he  began,  casting  rapid  side-glances  at 
Charlotte,  and  not  looking  at  his  interlocutor  at  all,  "you  see, 
what  I  have  to  say  had  best  be  said  in  priv  —  " 

"  Say  it  here  and  now  or  not  at  all,"  the  Doctor  demanded. 
"Had  I  known  who  was  knocking,  you  would  not  have  in- 
truded, I  tell  you  candidly;  but  since  you  are  here,  state 
your  business  as  briefly  as  possible." 

[355] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Adams  made  a  peculiar  sound  with  his  tongue  and  ac- 
companied it  with  an  expression  of  protestation. 

"  Don't  take  that  way  with  me,  Doctor,"  said  he;  "  you  '11 
regret  it  presently,  I  'm  sure.     If  you  don't  care  about  the 
lady  being  present  I  'm  sure  I  don't.     It  was  only  out  of  a 
consideration  for  her  feelings  —  and  yours,  too,  Doctor  — 
that  I  threw  out  the  suggestion." 

"  And  once  more,  I  tell  you  there  is  nothing  privy  between 
you  and  me,  Adams.  Be  brief." 

"Very  well." 

With  a  movement  that  was  again  almost  like  prestidigita- 
tion, Adams  had  the  door  open,  and  there  appeared  the 
familiar,  now  puzzled,  countenance  of  McCaleb. 

"That 's  the  man,"  Adams  went  on,  pointing  to  Doctor 
Westbrook, —  assuredly,  direct  enough  now.  "  I  charge 
Mobley  Westbrook  with  the  murder  of  Senor  Alberto  de 
Sanchez."  With  extraordinary  adroitness,  he  placed  Mc- 
Caleb between  himself  and  the  physician. 

For  a  moment  the  silence  could  almost  be  felt,  tense  and 
breathless  as  it  was.  McCaleb  was  the  only  one  present 
who  evinced  any  embarrassment;  he  had  every  air  of  a  man 
suddenly  and  unwillingly  thrust  into  a  ridiculous  position. 
Charlotte  was  too  dazed  to  comprehend  at  once  what  was 
going  forward,  and  she  simply  sat  motionless  and  stared  at 
Adams  with  a  blank  look.  That  individual,  by  his  recent 
mano3uvre,  had  placed  himself  near  the  open  door,  and  he 
was,  moreover,  again  smiling  and  flashing  his  teeth.  As 
for  the  Doctor,  he  seemed  for  the  time  being  overcome  with 
astonishment;  then  he  laughed  harshly  and  unnaturally; 
and  what  he  said  was  quite  unaccountable: 

"  So  it  has  come  at  last.     Well,  I  have  been  expecting  it." 
[356] 


An  Arrest 

He  sat  down  suddenly  and  fell  to  stroking  his  beard.  His 
glance  seemed  to  pass  casually  to  Adams,  who,  when  his 
shifting  eyes  caught  it,  swallowed  hastily  and  edged  still 
nearer  the  door. 

A  sudden  anger  burst  from  the  Doctor. 

"  Close  that  door ! "  he  thundered.  "  Don't  let  that  rascal 
slip  away  till  we  see  how  far  he  means  to  push  this  thing." 

With  the  Doctor's  first  enigmatic  words  McCaleb  seemed 
to  recover  his  sang-froid.  Briefly  he  regarded  the  other  with 
a  startled  look,  as  if  the  words  were  unexpected  and  sur- 
prising; now  he  turned  to  Adams,  his  surprise  very  manifest. 

He  closed  the  door. 

"  I  must  warn  you,  Doctor,"  said  he,  "  that  anything  you 
say  may  be  used  against  you;  yet,  if  you  wish  to  make  a 
statement,  you  are  at  liberty  to  do  so.  It  is  true  that  you 
have  been  charged  with  this  —  this  crime;  I  have  the 
warrant  here,  sworn  to  by  Adams." 

The  Doctor  had  not  moved  his  look  from  Investigator 
Adams,  who  now  betrayed  every  sign  of  uneasiness.  Once 
or  twice  that  wonderfully  flexible  right  hand  stole  toward 
the  region  of  his  hip  pocket,  but  each  time  it  came  stealthily 
back  again,  to  pluck  uncertainly  at  his  prognathous  chin. 

"  McCaleb,  do  your  duty ! "  said  he. 

*'  When  I  get  good  and  ready,"  McCaleb  returned,  with- 
out looking  at  him;  he  was  still  waiting  on  Doctor  West- 
brook.  The  latter  now  spoke. 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  statement  to  make;  why  should  I  ?  The 
whole  wretched  business  has  been  such  a  nightmare  that  I 
have  n't  the  heart  to  attempt  a  defence." 

Once  more  he  turned  to  Adams. 

"So  this  is  your  revenge,  is  it?"  he  asked.  "This  is 
[357] 


The  Silver  Blade 

your  way  of  getting  back  at  me  for  the  old  Civic  Reform 
League;  it 's  a  pity  I  did  n't  stay  with  it  until  I  had  smoked 
you  out,  you  scoundrel." 

He  looked  again  to  McCaleb.  "Well,  I  suppose  I  must 
go  with  you;  I  am  ready." 

But  there  came  an  interruption  from  an  unlooked-for 
source.  Before  any  one  was  aware  of  it,  Charlotte  had 
arisen  and  was  between  the  Doctor  and  the  other  two  men. 
She  faced  them  magnificently  —  like  a  tigress  at  bay. 

"  You  touch  him  if  you  dare ! " 

The  words  were  uttered  with  ominous  quietness.  If  a 
look  could  convey  any  physical  effect,  McCaleb  and  Adams 
would  have  been  seared  and  scorched  and  blasted  by  the 
lightning-like  fire  of  wrath  that  blazed  about  them.  All 
of  her  moving  personality  showed  plainly  in  that  look, 
dominating  the  situation  as  if  the  other  actors  therein  were 
no  more  than  wooden  marionettes.  McCaleb  recoiled; 
Adams  cowered  behind  him. 

"  Mobley,  tell  him  that  he  lies  —  there,  that  wretched 
creature  hiding  behind  the  other." 

She  levelled  a  potent  finger  at  the  abject  Adams. 

"Charlotte,"  Doctor  Westbrook  whispered  in  her  ear, 
"this  is  only  making  matters  worse;  believe  me,  this  is  not 
the  place  to  correct  whatever  mis  — 

Charlotte  stamped  her  foot  with  fierce  impatience. 

"  Tell  him  that  he  lies ;  make  him  swallow  those  vile  words 
before  either  of  you  leaves  this  room." 

That  terrible,  menacing  finger  was  to  Adams  like  an  iron 
spit  upon  which  he,  impaled,  was  being  held  up  to  a  threaten- 
ing multitude.  McCaleb  essayed  a  diversion. 

"This  is  unfortunate,  Miss  Fairchild.  You  know  me 
[358] 


An  Arrest 

pretty  well;  you  know  that  I  must  serve  this  warrant;  you 
know  I  would  never  do  it  were  it  not  —  "  But  she  was  not 
paying  the  slightest  attention  to  him.  He  turned  helplessly 
to  the  Doctor. 

At  last  the  awful  look  in  Charlotte's  eyes,  the  menacing 
finger,  became  unbearable.  Adams,  like  the  well-known 
worm,  turned.  He  also  squirmed,  worm-like,  and  was 
heard  to  mutter  something. 

"  What  does  the  creature  say  ?  "  demanded  Charlotte. 

"He  says  that  he  has  an  eye-witness  to  the  murder," 
McCaleb  interpreted. 

Two  regal  strides,  and  she  was  standing  above  Adams, 
an  incarnation  of  outraged  womanhood,  of  implacable, 
devastating  wrath. 

"  Who  is  your  witness  ?  " 

For  once  his  eyes  had  ceased  to  rove;  they  were  held  by 
Charlotte's  —  hypnotized  by  their  compelling  magnetism. 

"  Who  is  your  witness  ? "  she  repeated,  sternly  —  not  to 
be  denied. 

"Don't  —  don't  touch  me,"  he  hissed.     "Keep  away!" 

"Touch  you,  you  filthy  thing?  Ugh!  Who  is  your 
witness  ?  " 

Of  a  sudden  McCaleb  sprang  toward  them. 

"Here,  none  of  that!"  he  cried  through  clenched  teeth. 
Something  flashed  for  an  instant  between  the  two  men,  and 
when  he  stepped  back  again  he  was  holding  a  pistol  in  his 
hand  and  regarding  the  unfortunate  Adams  with  anger  and 
contempt. 

"  Who  is  your  witness  ?  "  She  was  apparently  oblivious 
of  the  little  by-play. 

There  was  no  escaping  it.  In  the  end  he  stammered 
[3591 


The  Silver  Blade 

something,  to  Charlotte  unintelligible,  but  McCaleb  started 
and  came  on  a  step  nearer. 

"Who?"  asked  Charlotte. 

"  How  —  How  —  Howard  Lynden." 

Now  it  was  her  turn  to  recoil.  The  sternness  of  her 
countenance  gave  way  to  a  mingled  look  of  amazement  and 
incredulity.  She  laughed  a  little  wildly. 

"How  ridiculous!  I  see  now;  it  is  merely  a  vulgar  joke 
—  some  spite  which  this  wretched  creature  is  trying  to  vent 
upon  you,  Mobley." 

Now  that  the  tension  was  broken,  McCaleb  felt  that  he 
could  again  make  himself  heard. 

"Indeed,  Miss  Fairchild,  it  is  no  joke,"  earnestly.  "If 
Adams,  here,  should  try  such  a  game,  he  would  find  it  the 
worse  for  him,  as  he  knows  very  well." 

"  You  '11  see  how  much  of  a  joke  it  is,"  muttered  Adams, 
with  a  malignant  look  at  the  Doctor.  But  McCaleb  went 
on,  ignoring  him. 

"  However  unpleasant  it  may  be,  I  have  the  warrant  issued 
in  proper  form,  and,  one  way  or  another,  I  must  serve  it." 

What  next  occurred  banished  from  the  minds  of  all  every- 
thing that  had  preceded  it. 

The  door  noiselessly  swung  open  and  revealed  the  large 
figure  and  the  impassive  features  of  Captain  John  Converse. 

While  they  stared  at  him  iu  speechless  surprise,  he  nodded 
briefly  to  the  Doctor;  long  afterward,  when  Charlotte  looked 
back  at  the  scene,  she  became  possessed  of  a  conviction  which 
is  with  her  to  this  day  —  that  he  deliberately  winked  at  her. 

He  turned  to  McCaleb,  to  whom  the  familiar  sibilant 
voice  was  inexpressibly  welcome. 

"  I  will  relieve  you  of  your  unpleasant  duty,  Mac,"  said 
[360] 


An  Arrest 

he,  smoothly.  The  young  man  passed  over  the  warrant 
with  an  alacrity  which  demonstrated  that  the  Captain  had 
correctly  characterized  his  task. 

"  Pardon  me  for  intruding,  Doctor,"  Converse  continued, 
"  but  it  seems  you  were  so  absorbed  in  here  that  you  did  n't 
hear  me  knock.  .  .  .  Miss  Fairchild,  you  — 

Something  in  her  manner  bade  him  stop.  He  glanced 
significantly  at  Doctor  Westbrook;  but  before  either  had 
time  to  do  or  say  anything  further,  Charlotte  had  risen  hastily 
from  the  chair  into  which  she  had  sunk  upon  the  Captain's 
unexpected  entrance,  her  every  movement  betraying  a  sup- 
pressed excitement,  an  agitation  imminently  upon  the 
point  of  mastering  her  self-control. 

"No,  no!"  she  said,  laughing  somewhat  hysterically,  "I 
am  not  going  to  faint;  but  oh!  Mr.  Converse,  I  am  so  glad 
you  have  come ! "  She  sank  to  her  knees,  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  sat  on  the  floor,  laughing  and  crying  together. 

The  Doctor  went  over  to  her,  raised  her  gently,  and  led 
her  to  the  couch,  where  he  sat  beside  her  and  held  her  head 
on  his  shoulder.  There  was  something  exultant  in  his  look, 
as  if  he  enjoyed  being  arrested;  for  the  woman  now  clung  to 
him  as  though  she  had  never  refused  the  caress  of  those 
sheltering  arms. 

The  Captain  stood  silently  watching  them  with  expression- 
less eyes,  turning  the  warrant  over  and  over  in  his  hands.  At 
last  he  thrust  it  carelessly  into  his  pocket  and  turned  away. 

Adams  and  McCaleb  slipped  unobserved  from  the  room. 

Some  time  later,  when  Charlotte  was  again  calm,  Mr. 
Converse  said  to  her,  "  Miss  Fairchild,  I  have  an  answer  to 
our  riddle." 

[Ml] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  Then,  thank  God !  the  mystery  is  solved ! "  she  said ;  and 
the  Doctor  burst  forth  eagerly : 

"Is  that  true?" 

Converse  ignored  both  inquiries. 

"Come  nearer,   Miss   Fairchild,"   said  he;    and  when, 
wondering,  she  had  obeyed,  he  leaned  forward  and  whispered 
one  word  into  her  ear.  ..."  That 's  what  our  riddle  has 
for  its  answer,"  he  went  on  in  a  louder  tone.         '  Paquita  — 
what  do  you  spell  ? '  is  a  riddle  no  longer." 

Charlotte  started  back. 

"  Revenge  —  but  that  tells  me  nothing,"  she  said,  blankly. 
Converse  smiled  knowingly  and  shook  his  head. 

"Perhaps  you  will  not  press  me  with  questions  which  I 
have  n't  time  to  answer;  it  cannot  be  told  in  a  word.     It 's 
a  long  story,  and  a  remarkable  one  too;  but  we  will  hear  it 
soon.     It  is  not  for  me  to  tell  it.     I  am  waiting  for  Mr. 
Nettleton,  Mr.   Mount  joy,  Clay,   and  Howard  Lynden  — 
though  I  don't  believe  that  last  gentleman  will  come  now  - 
and  one  or  two  others.  .  .  .  Ah,  here  are  Clay  and  Mr. 
Nettleton  now.     You  got  my  message,  I  see," —  this  last  to 
Clay. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  young  man;  "but  I'm  dashed  if  I 
understand  it.  What 's  it  all  about,  anyhow  ?  Where  have 
you  been  ?  When  did  you  — 

"  What  ?  —  where  ?  —  when  ?  "  Converse  interrupted. 
"Pray  make  allowance  for  my  age.  Better  yet,  don't  ask 
any  questions  at  all.  You  will  soon  have  enough  to  occupy 
your  mind  fully." 

Mr.  Nettleton  merely  spoke  a  word  or  two  of  greeting; 
otherwise  he  remained  silent  until  Mr.  Converse  now  abrupt- 
ly addressed  him. 

[362] 


An  Arrest 

"  Did  you  bring  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

For  answer  the  lawyer  drew  a  manuscript  from  his  pocket. 
His  manner  was  sober,  and  unconsciously  it  foreshadowed 
the  gravity  of  what  was  about  to  transpire.  A  spirit  of 
expectancy  animated  everybody  present;  a  dawning  realiza- 
tion that  at  last  the  crisis  was  at  hand,  that  the  veil  hiding 
the  mystery  was  about  to  be  rent.  So  far  as  this  is  con- 
cerned, they  were  soon  to  learn  that  the  rending  of  one 
veil  was  to  disclose  but  a  single  one  of  many  complexities 
and  yet  another  concealing  veil  beyond;  that  while  the 
enveloping  mists  were  surely  dissipating,  they  passed  but 
slowly,  revealing  only  a  little  at  a  time. 

"  While  we  are  waiting  for  the  others,  Mr.  Nettleton  will 
read  this  aloud,"  said  the  Captain. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  from  the  Doctor. 

"I  suppose  you  might  call  it  the  'Ante-Mortem  State- 
ment of  William  Slade,  Deceased,' "  Mr.  Nettleton  replied; 
and  Converse  interjected,  "  'Slade's  Blessing.'  ' 

"Good,"  the  lawyer  rejoined.  "That  would  not  be  an 
inept  title.  It  came  to  me  this  morning  through  the  mail) 
and  evidently  was  only  lately  written." 

Again  Converse  spoke.  "How  is  Miss  Joyce?  Could 
she  be  present  ?  "  He  proceeded  no  further,  when  he  noticed 
the  Doctor  shaking  his  head  in  a  decided  negative. 

"  She  is  rapidly  regaining  her  strength,"  the  latter  added; 
"  but  of  everything  that  happened  up  to  the  time  of  returning 
consciousness,  she  remembers  nothing." 

"  Dear  me ! "  ejaculated  the  Captain ;  "  that  is  unfortunate. 
Is  this  blank  likely  to  be  permanent  ?  " 

"  God  knows  that  I  hope  not.  It  is  too  early  to  hazard 
a  positive  opinion." 

[363] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Well,  well,"  Converse  repeated,  thoughtfully;  "yet, 
perhaps  —  However,  Mr.  Nettleton,  go  on;  read." 

"But,  Mr.  Converse,"  Charlotte  interposed,  "this  is  all 
so  incomprehensible;  we  are  tossed  about  in  such  a  turmoil 
of  bewilderment  that  my  mind  is  incapable  of  understanding 
anything,  and  I  am  sure  that  Mobley  is  no  better  off.  When 
did  you  return?  Where  have  you  been  so  long?  Have 
some  mercy  upon  us,  for  I  feel  as  though  I  were  going 
mad." 

"Dear  lady,"  he  returned,  "try  to  have  a  little  patience; 
you  shall  know  all,  quickly." 

"  But,  about  Mobley  —  what  did  that  man  mean  by  ac- 
cusing him  ?  by  saying  that  Howard  had  witnessed  the  — 
the  murder  ?    My  God !  when  will  this  end  ?  " 

The  Captain  spoke  soothingly. 

"Let  this  manuscript  be  read,  and  everything  else  will 
fall  in  naturally.  I  have  already  said  that  the  story  cannot 
be  told  in  a  word.  It  is  a  strange  tale,  and  we  must  take 
one  thing  at  a  time  if  we  hope  ever  to  comprehend  it.  Now 
go  ahead,  Mr.  Nettleton." 

The  lawyer  appeared  to  consider. 

"I  question  the  advisability  of  reading  this,"  he  said  at 
length;  "but  Mr.  Converse  thinks  otherwise.  I  wish  to 
say  first,  however,  that  many  things  in  this  manuscript  will 
prove  to  be  exceedingly  painful  to  you,  Mobley,  and  to  you, 
Charlotte  and  Clay.  So  much  so,  that  it  will  be  impossible 
for  you  to  hear  them  unmoved.  I  have  read  it,  and  I  know. 
It  is  contemptible.  It  brings  grave  charges  against  your  two 
fathers ;  yet,  if  you  wish  ever  to  understand  the  mystery  that 
so  entangles  you,  a  perusal  of  this  will  be  necessary.  Each 
one  of  you  could  take  it  alone  and  go  through  with  it  *s  you 

[364] 


An  Arrest 

may;  but  to  read  it  here  aloud  will  be  a  terrible  ordeal. 
What  are  your  wishes  ?  " 

"  Bob,"  the  Doctor  returned,  "  we  have  all  borne  so  much 
that  the  fact  of  this  being  an  additional  ordeal  weighs  but 
little  against  the  assurance  that  we  are  to  see  this  web  of 
mystery  and  suspicion  untangled.  I  think  the  three  of  us 
most  concerned  will  agree  to  that?"  He  looked  to  Char- 
lotte and  Clay,  who  nodded  acquiescence.  Converse  also 
nodded  his  head  vigorously,  adding:  "My  idea,  exactly. 
You  will  hear  the  dead  vilified  and  yourselves  damned 
roundly ;  but,  dear  me,  what  of  that  ?  "  he  asked,  cheerfully. 
"  Slade  was  as  cracked  as  a  brick  sidewalk,  and  he  could  n't 
do  anything  else." 

Mr.  Nettleton  smiled.  "  It  would  n't  do  to  go  too  far 
into  that,  Converse;  remember  the  will." 

"Well,"  the  other  retorted,  "that  is  the  most  sensible 
thing  he  ever  did.  He  was  sane  enough  when  that  was 
drawn.  You  must  remember,  it  is  fourteen  years  old." 

Now  the  lawyer  turned  to  Clay  and  Charlotte.  "It  is 
agreed,  then,  that  I  shall  read  this  aloud  ?  "  he  asked,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"Fire  away,"  from  Clay;  and  his  sister  supplemented, 
"If  we  can't  bear  it,  we  can  stop  you." 

Although  there  were  times  during  the  reading  when  she 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  wept  softly ;  when  Clay  or  the 
Doctor  or  both  sat  with  white  set  faces,  with  clenched  hands 
and  rigid  jaws,  to  the  credit  of  their  self-control  may  it  here 
be  set  down,  that  there  was  no  interruption  until  Mr.  Nettle- 
ton  had  quite  finished. 

That  which  follows  is  merely  a  precis  of  what  constituted 
a  remarkable  document.  Those  portions  deleted,  compris- 

[365] 


The  Silver  Blade 

ing  quite  a  half  of  the  writing,  are  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  a  manifestation  of  Slade's  arrant  egotism,  his  innate 
selfishness,  an  almost  fiendish  vindictiveness,  and  a  seem- 
ingly inborn  malevolence  that  was  baffled  at  every  turn. 
Indeed,  the  one  bright  spot  in  the  entire  writing  —  his  pro- 
fessed affection,  if  so  tender  an  emotion  can  be  associated 
with  his  nature  —  is  all  the  more  extraordinary  because  it 
stands  alone  among  all  the  man's  ungenerous  impulses  and 
thwarted  ambitions.  Those  portions  may  well  be  dispensed 
with;  they  are  simply  unpleasant  reading.  Otherwise  the 
document  is  given  as  he  wrote  it. 


[366] 


CHAPTER  VII 

"SLADE'S  BLESSING" 

TO  begin  with,  I  was  unfortunate  in  being  born  the  son 
of  an  overseer.  The  generation  that  has  come  since 
the  war  recks  little  how  pregnant  this  simple  statement 
is.  It  bestowed  upon  me  an  ethic  value  somewhat  lower 
than  that  possessed  by  the  meanest  nigger  on  Richard  Fair- 
child's  plantation.  They  had  a  place;  I  had  none.  Be- 
sides, my  father  was  a  rascal  and  a  thief,  possessing  not  a 
single  leavening  trait  or  characteristic;  for  he  was  without 
any  refinement  or  culture,  impenetrable  to  any  noble  senti- 
ment —  coarse  and  vulgar  to  the  end.  God !  Could  human 
effort  come  to  aught  in  the  face  of  such  overwhelming  odds  ? 
Yet,  one  helping  hand,  an  occasional  encouraging  word 
from  those  who  usurped  position  and  authority,  one  sympa- 
thetic soul  to  spur  my  honorable  aspirations,  and  I  had  been  a 
better  man.  But,  with  one  exception,  that  helping  hand,  the 
encouraging  word,  were  withheld;  the  sympathetic  spirit 
did  not  exist.  God  bless  Elinor  Clay,  and  reward  her  with 
a  saint's  crown  of  glory;  may  He  everlastingly  damn  the 
rest!  .  .  . 

Most  vicious  of  all  —  proud,  stiff-necked,  sick  in  his 
self-esteem,  overweening,  and  malicious  —  was  Peyton 
Westbrook.  From  the  first  he  stood  in  my  path,  thwarting 
and  despising  me,  looking  upon  William  Slade  as  something 
less  than  the  dirt  beneath  his  aristocratic  feet.  What  was 
Peyton  Westbrook  that  I  was  not  ?  We  were  man  and  man. 

[367] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Had  our  positions  been  reversed,  his  would  have  been  a 
wretched  lot,  indeed.  Small  of  soul,  narrow  of  mind,  re- 
gardless of  any  interest  that  did  not  harmonize  \vith  his 
own,  he  would  have  remained  the  overseer's  son,  to  live 
unhonored,  and,  dying,  to  pass  into  an  oblivion  merited  by 
his  worth;  while  I,  William  Slade,  endowed  with  intellect 
and  fine  sensibilities,  might  have  risen  to  greatness,  the 
limits  of  which  I  hesitate  to  define.  But  no;  he  was  born 
to  the  purple;  it  was  given  him  to  make  such  futile  and 
petty  uses  of  his  fathers  fortune  and  position  as  his  little 
mind  and  mediocre  abilities  could  devise;  while  I,  not  lack- 
ing in  all  those  naturally  inherent  qualities  which  made  me 
in  every  way  his  superior  —  except  the  one  of  position  - 
must  stand  in  the  background  of  obscurity  and  console  myself 
as  best  I  could  for  Life's  cruel  arbitrariness  in  the  selection 
of  her  favorites.  .  .  . 

Peyton  Westbrook  loved  —  nay,  I  cannot  prostitute  the 
word  to  such  base  use;  he  coveted  Elinor  Clay  and  her 
acres.  I  loved  Elinor  Clay.  So  did  Richard  Fairchild, 
poor  creature  that  he  was.  .  .  . 

Peyton  Westbrook's  nature  was  so  mean  that  he  could 
applaud  his  conduct  in  turning  from  her  to  Louise  Shepard- 
son.  The  world  marvelled  at  the  time;  but  the  truth,  like 
all  puzzles  of  simple  solution,  was  never  hit  upon.  Louise 
Shepardson,  when  the  Judge,  her  father,  died,  became  pos- 
sessed of  more  acres  than  would  ever  come  to  Elinor  Clay. 
Good,  broad  acres  constituted  the  only  bait  to  which  so  cold- 
blooded a  fish  as  Westbrook  would  ever  rise.  Did  gracious 
Elinor  ever  suspect  this  simple  explanation?  No;  her 
gentle  soul  never  could  comprehend  such  infamy.  She 
wedded  Richard  Fairchild,  believing  she  had  driven  Peyton 

[368] 


"Slack's  Blessing" 

Westbrook  from  her  —  blaming  her  pure  self  for  his  heart- 
less baseness.  Were  I  to  attempt  a  writing  of  the  curse 
which  rises  to  my  lips  when  I  think  of  this  soulless,  bowel- 
less  nature,  its  scorching  fervor  would  dry  the  ink  on  my 
pen.  "Slade's  Blessing"  it  has  been  called!  "Blessing," 
indeed !  Heaven  grant  that  it  may  land  him  in  the  midst  of 
the  torment  whither  it  has  consigned  him  again  and  again, 
and  is  at  last  made  eternal  by  the  ineffaceable  record  which 
preserves  forever  the  prayers  of  dying  men ! 

Did  I  aspire  to  Elinor  Clay's  hand?  God  help  me,  if 
I  did !  I  was  young  and  ambitious ;  I  was  full  of  the  dreams 
of  youth  —  the  young  blood  pulsed  hotly  in  my  body;  and 
this  was  sweet  —  the  one  incident  in  my  miserable  past  that 
I  can  look  back  upon  and  feel  a  shadow  of  pleasure's  glow 
mount  to  my  withered  cheek.  Even  now,  soured  as  I  am 
by  adversity,  that  beautiful  name  stirs  a  warmth  in  my 
heart;  and  I  can  pity  myself  and  her  in  tears,  and  not  by 
curses  for  those  who  wronged  us.  So  does  it  soften  the 
heart  of  bitterness.  My  sentiment  was  a  matter  of  repres- 
sion, my  adoration  silent;  Elinor  was  as  far  from  me  as  the 
stars.  Because  I  was  son  of  an  overseer  I  was  lonely  enough; 
besides,  what  had  I  to  do  with  boys  of  my  own  age,  their 
foolish  sports  and  inane  pastimes?  We  had  nothing  in 
common. 

But  Elinor  Clay  never  spoke  aught  to  me  but  gentle 
words;  and  in  the  end  I  came  to  set  her  up  in  the  shrine  of 
my  thoughts  as  the  object  of  an  adoration  which,  could  she 
but  have  had  a  glimpse  of  it,  surely  would  have  melted  her 
tender  heart  to  pity.  To  have  lived  for  her;  to  have  toiled 
and  laid  up  year  by  year,  that  in  the  end  she  might  alone 
benefit;  to  have  done  this  with  a  singleness  of  purpose  that 

[  369  ]' 


The  Silver  Blade 

never  faltered  —  does  this  signify  selfishness  or  meanness  ? 
Then  I  am  the  meanest  and  most  selfish  that  ever  encum- 
bered the  earth.  .  .  . 

I  realized  in  my  love-madness  that  I  must  have  patience; 
that  I  must  toil  and  labor  unceasingly  to  attain  to  the  place 
merited  by  my  talents  and  intellect;  for  naturally  I  was 
superior  to  them  all,  being  possessed  of  mental  gifts  of  no 
mean  order.  I  knew  that  with  the  advantages  I  could 
acquire  I  could  rise  above  them;  then  I  could  take  what  to 
ask  for  then  would  have  brought  forth  only  derision  and 
mockery.  But  here  again  the  world  was  against  me;  I  was 
only  the  overseer's  son.  But  they  feared  me,  and  every 
hand  was  extended  to  keep  me  down.  .  .  . 

Although  my  father  was  a  rascal,  he  was  a  far-seeing  one. 
Long  before  war's  dire  besom  swept  our  fair  land,  he  had  a 
sure  knowledge  of  the  outcome,  and  with  commendable  enter- 
prise laid  his  plans  accordingly.  He  had  put  by  a  little 
money,  and,  as  opportunity  offered  (and  such  opportunities 
were  by  no  means  lacking),  he  would  lend  a  bit  here  and  a 
bit  there  to  the  planters  about  our  neighborhood,  that  they 
might  be  able  to  stem  the  rising  tide  of  misfortune.  Richard 
Fairchild  was  a  poor  weakling,  and  my  father  kept  him  from 
going  under.  There  are  those  who  may  term  it  ingratitude 
to  speak  thus  of  my  "benefactor."  Bah!  Benefactor! 
Fool !  I  pen  the  epithet  in  scorn  and  contempt.  I  can  select 
no  better  evidence  to  support  my  opinion  of  him  than  that  he 
should  have  opened  wide  the  fast-emptying  Fairchild  purse, 
to  take  thence  the  gold  that  was  exchanged  for  my  education. 
The  act  was  prompted  by  no  spirit  of  kindness,  but  was  ani- 
mated by  the  same  foolish  vanity  and  love  of  ostentation  that 
marked  the  wasting  of  all  his  substance.  How  carefully  I 

[370] 


"Slade's  Blessing" 

could  have  husbanded  it !  Even  at  this  late  day  the  thought 
of  the  small  fortune  that  he  wasted  upon  his  niggers  alone 
makes  me  quiver  with  indignation.  No;  such  learning  as  I 
have  was  come  by  through  sore  labor.  His  mean  gift  was 
thrown  to  me  as  a  bone  is  tossed  to  a  vagrant  cur. 

But  no  mortal  could  have  saved  that  man.  My  father's 
error  lay  in  taking  payment  twice,  and  somewhat  over,  for  the 
money  he  had  lent  him.  The  highest  tribute  I  can  pay  to 
Richard  Fairchild's  astuteness  is  that  he  never  suspected 
this,  although,  during  a  period  covering  many  years,  he  made 
many  payments  to  my  father,  and  probably  had  continued 
doing  so  had  not  every  resource  become  exhausted. 

My  father  used  to  say,  in  his  vulgar  way :  "  I  fit  for  my 
country  against  the  greasers," —  meaning  thereby  the  Mexi- 
cans,—  "  and  while  I  am  too  old  to  fight  now,  I  may  save 
some  of  these  broad  acres.  But  old  association  cannot  be  ig- 
nored ;  so  long  as  my  poor  neighbors  have  a  chance  of  keeping 
up  their  brave  show,  my  small  means  are  at  their  service.  If 
they  go  down  —  well,  I  shall  not."  And  not  to  place  upon 
them  any  sense  of  obligation  to  an  overseer,  they  never  knew 
whence  the  money  came.  I  might  observe  that,  had  they 
known,  they  would  not  have  touched  a  penny  of  it.  But  thus 
my  father  went  about  his  charitable  work,  with  his  tongue  in 
his  cheek,  and  one  eye  knowingly  closed. 

Also,  I  may  say  here  that  my  father  was  a  conscienceless 
liar.  He  never  fought  anything  but  occasional  virtuous 
impulses,  the  same  being  ever  put  to  an  inglorious  rout;  for 
during  the  Mexican  War  he  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
sutler,  although  there  is  much  to  be  commended  in  providing 
nourishment,  raiment,  and  refreshment  to  those  who  are 
battling  for  their  country's  honor.  But  he  prospered,  and 

[371] 


The  Silver  Blade 

in  Mexico  became  connected  with  a  certain  young  hidalgo 
of  Spain  who  had  moneys  to  invest.  Why  this  partnership 
was  severed  I  can  only  conjecture.  My  father  was  wont  to 
accuse  him  of  ingratitude,  saying  that  Don  Juan  del  Castillo 
was  an  ungrateful  creature,  who  turned  upon  those  that 
befriended  him;  but  at  the  same  time  my  parent  would 
loudly  forgive  him  for  certain  dim  and  unspecified  wrongs, 
the  which,  I  shrewdly  suspect,  were  of  my  father's  doing 
rather  than  the  Spanish  gentleman's.  However  that  may  be, 
it  was  largely  the  latter's  money  that  went  to  Richard  Fair- 
child  as  a  loan  for  such  of  his  acres  as  remained  unincum- 
bered.  My  father  could  well  be  the  agent  of  Don  Juan  in 
these  transactions,  even  though  the  gentry  would  not  tolerate 
him  as  a  principal.  My  father  was  a  shrewd  rascal. 

As  I  have  already  stated,  the  money  advanced  to  Richard 
Fairchild  was  repaid  more  than  twice  over.  (A  schedule  will 
be  found  in  the  envelope  with  my  will.)  Hence,  I  have  been 
no  more  than  a  trustee  —  a  faithful  one  —  of  Richard 
Fairchild's  property.  Take  it,  Clay  and  Charlotte;  I  ask 
nothing  for  my  lifetime  of  toil  and  care,  because  I  know  it 
will  not  be  granted  me.  It  is  yours,  freely  and  joyously 
bestowed.  I  have  added  to  it  many  fold;  but  that  is  of  no 
moment.  I  seek  no  credit  for  this  generous  impulse.  I 
could  not  have  the  desire  of  my  heart:  Elinor  has  gone  from 
me  for  ever.  I  want  nothing  else.  Heaven  give  you  happi- 
ness in  the  property  that  I,  William  Slade,  the  oversr< -r's 
despised  son,  have  laid  up  for  you.  .  .  . 

Only  one  single  time  did  fate,  or  Providence,  favor  me, 
and  then  only  to  turn  in  the  end  and  discomfit  me.  But 
for  Elinor's  sake,  I  may  not  tell  all  thereof. 

On  a  night  shortly  after  the  Mexican  man  was  overtaken 
[372] 


"Slack's  Blessing" 

by  a  most  righteous  wrath  in  the  Nettleton  Building,  certain 
evidences  that  Peyton  Westbrook  had  for  once  gone  a  step 
too  far  in  his  villany  came  to  my  hands.  I  gave  thanks  to 
God  that  I  should  have  been  the  one  chosen  as  the  humble 
instrument  of  that  man's  undoing.  The  testimony  was  irre- 
fragable —  as  we  lawyers  say,  conclusive  —  and  I  held  him 
in  the  hollow  of  my  hand.  Here,  my  lifelong  affection  led 
me  into  error  of  judgment  —  something  that  I  am  not  often 
guilty  of;  my  tenderness  of  heart  blinded  me  to  my  hatred  of 
•  this  man,  and  instead  of  stripping  him  of  his  smug  and  gaudy 
trappings  of  virtue,  and  showing  him  up  to  be  the  scoundrel 
he  was,  I  ended  by  allowing  that  evidence  to  be  taken  from 
me  —  I  standing  by  complaisant  —  and  the  opportunity  to 
unmask  him  to  be  destroyed.  So  did  gentle  Elinor  reward 
him  for  his  base  heartlessness  of  other  days!  What  is  the 
use  for  me  to  say  that  Peyton  Westbrook  was  a  scoundrel,  if 
I  cannot  prove  it  ?  Although  it  is  the  bare  truth,  I  will 
refrain  from  telling  it.  Besides,  sweet  Elinor  has  begged  me 
not  to.  ... 

For  a  time  I  thought  of  that  snip  of  a  girl  who  bears  the 
Westbrook  name  with  about  as  much  dignity  as  really  invests 
it- 

But  enough  of  her.  I  was  wrong,  and  I  bear  her  no  ill 
will  for  being  a  witless  butterfly.  Butterflies,  I  dare  say, 
have  their  uses  in  the  vast  scheme  of  creation. 

To  return  to  my  error  of  judgment.  When  I  had  satiated 
my  senses  by  gloating  over  this  evidence,  I  was  possessed  of 
an  idea.  Never  had  I  breathed  a  word  to  any  living  soul  of 
my  love  for  Elinor  Clay;  it  was  a  secret  locked  safely  in  the 
treasure-house  of  my  heart;  and  now  I  could  overwhelm  her 
with  gratitude.  I  would  go  to  her  —  now  that  her  foolish 

[373] 


The  Silver  Blade 

girl  sentiment  for  the  bowelless  Westbrook  had  long  been 
dead  —  and  at  once  show  her  what  a  hypocrite  he  was,  how 
basely  he  had  treated  her,  and  then  present  the  immense 
contrast  offered  by  my  lifelong  devotion  and  generosity. 
Could  any  mortal  —  especially  a  woman  —  resist  such  an 
appeal  ?  I  pride  myself  on  my  knowledge  of  the  sex;  to  the 
intelligent,  observant  mind  they  are  as  open  books;  and  I 
unhesitatingly  answer,  No.  But  alas  for  human  frailty! 
When  I  appeared  to  my  beloved  Elinor,  I  had  not  taken  into 
account  her  years  of  enervating  illness;  I  failed  to  consider 
that  she  was  not  the  woman  she  had  been ;  but  I  did  not  hesi- 
tate —  to  me  she  would  ever  remain  unchanged. 

When  she  comprehended  the  tenor  of  my  errand,  the 
shock  was  too  much  for  her  gentle  nature ;  she  was  quite  over- 
come and  rendered  irresponsible,  and  all  unconsciously  she 
reviled  me, —  she  who  had  ever  been  all  gentleness  and  ten- 
derness,—  and  treated  me  with  a  harshness  that  was  very, 
very  painful.  What  could  I  do  but  deliver  my  testimony 
over  to  her?  How  could  I  refrain,  when  her  delirium  or 
hallucination  was  so  great  that  it  actually  led  her  to  defend- 
ing Peyton  Westbrook!  to  calling  him  by  many  endearing 
names !  And  presently,  her  daughter  —  who,  I  make  no 
doubt,  had  been  listening  at  the  door  —  entered,  and  I 
thoughtfully  and  considerately  desisted  in  my  importunities 
for  the  testimony's  return  (for  my  beloved  Elinor  had  it  at 
the  moment) ;  and  I  decided  to  leave  her  until  a  more  propi- 
tious time.  Alas !  that  time  was  destined  never  to  come. 

But  enough.  I  reap  from  my  trust  no  material  benefit. 
The  envious  call  my  conduct  Miserliness;  I  spell  it  differently; 
Fidelity. 

Charlotte,  Clay,  dear  children  of  my  beloved  Elinor,  take 
[374] 


"Slade's  Blessing" 

what  is  yours.  I  ask  for  no  meed  of  thanks.  My  reward 
is  the  consciousness  of  a  duty  well  accomplished,  of  a  trust 
faithfully  guarded.  But  never  forget  that  William  Slade, 
son  of  an  overseer,  despised  and  spurned  by  an  unfeeling 
and  heartless  world,  ever  had  your  interests  near  to  his  heart. 
If  the  reader  in  his  soul  does  not  say  that  my  unselfishness  is 
sublime,  then  are  you  inhuman,  cold,  and  bloodless;  for  I 
end  my  trust  with  the  firm  conviction  that  the  cestuis  que 
trust  are  in  no  wise  worthy  or  deserving  of  this  magnifi- 
cent gift  of  fortune. 


1375] 


BOOK  IV. 
THE  DANCER  AND  THE  MOUNTEBANK 


The  tongues  of  dying  men 
Enforce  attention  like  deep  harmony. 
Where  words  are  scarce  they  are  seldom  spent  in  vain, 
For  they  breathe  truth  that  breathe  their  words  in  pain. 

—  RICHARD  II. 


CHAPTER  I 

"THAT  IS  PAQUITA" 

WHEN  Mr.  Nettleton  came  to  the  end  of  the  extraordi- 
nary composition  from  the  hand  of  William  Slade, 
his  listeners  were  sitting  in  a  tense  stillness  that 
was  fairly  galvanic  with  many  mingled  emotions.  Doubtless, 
Converse  realized  the  conflicting  feelings  animating  the  three 
individuals  most  concerned;  he  arose  immediately,  and 
began  speaking  with  an  assumption  of  brisk  determination 
designed  to  hold  their  attention  to  the  programme  as  he 
intended  it  should  be  carried  out. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  ordering  two  carriages,"  said 
he,  addressing  the  Doctor;  "and  as  Miss  Fairchild  is  to 
accompany  us  " —  he  bowed  to  Charlotte  — "  let  me  beg  that 
you  hurry.  Time  is  of  some  moment  now." 

"  I  am  to  go  ?  "  she  returned,  wide-eyed.     "  Where  ?" 

"To  hear  the  final  chapter;  to  be  present  at  the  lifting  of 
the  veil." 

And  at  once  she  gave  a  satisfying  example  of  how  rapidly 
a  woman  may  make  herself  presentable  under  the  spur  of 
excitement  and  irresistible  curiosity. 

What  with  the  introduction  of  the  man  Adams  into  the 
enigma,  the  Doctor's  arrest,  the  assertion  that  Lynden  had 
been  an  eye-witness  of  De  Sanchez's  murder,  Converse's 
abrupt  and  unexpected  advent  after  so  long  an  absence, 
Slade's  confession,  and  —  to  cap  each  of  these  climaxes  — 
an  assurance  that  the  mystery  was  a  mystery  no  longer,  it 

[379] 


The  Silver  Blade 

may  be  believed  that  Charlotte's  tranquil  exterior  belied  the 
tumult  of  thought  and  emotion  which  presently  came  to 
possess  her,  increasing  the  more  as  she  pondered.  Added 
to  the  other  agitating  influences  was  a  lively  apprehen- 
sion of  what  form  the  pending  disclosure  would  take  — 
upon  whom  it  would  now  fasten  its  fangs  of  accusation. 
But  her  habit  of  self-control  came  admirably  to  her  <iid; 
to  a  certain  extent  she  was  able  to  busy  her  tired  brain 
with  other  matters,  although  patience  had  become  a  virtue 
forgotten. 

Naturally,  Converse  had  assumed  the  role  of  master  of 
ceremonies,  and  the  others  watched  him  with  curiosity. 
Into  the  first  of  two  waiting  carriages  he  ushered  Charlotte, 
her  brother,  Doctor  Westbrook,  and  Mr.  Nettleton;  and  as 
soon  as  the  door  was  banged  to,  the  vehicle  started  with  an 
assurance  and  speed  signifying  foreknowledge  on  the  part  of 
the  driver.  The  two  officers  entered  the  other  conveyance, 
which,  just  as  it  emerged  from  the  driveway,  was  met  by  the 
Coroner  and  Mr.  Mountjoy  in  the  former's  buggy. 

Aside  from  the  fact  that  it  was  taken  without  a  word  being 
uttered  by  any  of  her  companions,  Charlotte  retained  but  the 
most  nebulous  memory  of  that  ride. 

In  a  little  while  the  carriage  was  penetrating  a  neighbor- 
hood wholly  unknown  to  her,  and  presently  it  swerved  to  one 
side  and  drew  up  at  the  curb. 

Charlotte  looked  out  with  some  interest.  The  building 
before  which  they  had  stopped  stood  on  a  corner;  it  was 
two-storied,  of  stuccoed  brick,  and  made  gloomy  by  wide 
galleries  resting  on  brick  and  stone  arches.  It  exhaled  a 
strong  odor  of  cooking  onions  and  garlic,  of  wine  from  the 
wine-room  at  the  corner,  and  she  insensibly  drew  back. 

[380] 


'  That  is  Paquita" 

Almost  at  once  Converse  and  McCaleb,  Mr.  Mountjoy  and 
the  Coroner  appeared  before  the  carriage  door. 

The  first-named  shot  a  quizzical  look  at  her,  but  still 
vouchsafed  no  explanation  more  than  the  fact  that  they  were 
at  their  journey's  end. 

After  stepping  under  the  balcony  which  roofed  the  walk, 
she  was  enabled  to  read  on  one  of  the  door-panes  the 
words,  "  La  Posada  Mejicana,  R.  Velasquez,"  which  she  did 
with  a  little  start.  It  was  the  place  whither  Clay  had  fled 
upon  that  memorable  day,  and  where  he  had  written  to  Mr. 
Nettleton.  She  glanced  at  the  latter  now,  but  he  appeared 
unwontedly  sober.  The  Doctor's  curiosity  was  frank, 
though  speechless;  he  doubtless  had  resigned  himself  to 
await  the  issue. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  short  stout  man,  whose  features 
were  broad  and  dark.  His  hair  was  very  black  and  straight 
and  coarse,  and  to  this  man  Converse  spoke  a  word  or  two 
in  Spanish.  He  responded  volubly,  and  smiled  a  bright 
welcome  upon  the  remainder  of  the  party. 

"Coom  een,"  he  said,  cordially;  "entre  Ustedes  —  ah, 
Senor  Xettletone  —  como  estd  Usted?  Entre!  Entre!  "  To 
which  the  lawyer  responded  gravely. 

"Eet  ees  a  fine  day  —  si?"  vociferated  the  stout  little 
man,  cheerfully ;  and  when  the  last  of  the  party  had  entered 
he  closed  the  door  once  more  and  placed  himself  beside  Mr. 
Converse. 

"  Lead  on,"  said  the  latter  with  a  gesture;  "you  know." 

'"  Dees  way."  He  piloted  them  down  a  chilly,  dark 
corridor  to  a  flight  of  stairs. 

The  party  presently  arrived  at  the  second  floor,  Charlotte 
holding  the  Doctor's  arm  tightly,  and  the  way  led  through 

[381] 


The  Silver  Blade 

another  dim  corridor  to  a  door,  before  which  the  guide 
paused.  His  manner  had  become  all  at  once  comically 
mournful. 

"  Ah,  el  pbbre  senor  —  he  ees  un  seeck  hombre  —  mucho 
malo,"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "  I  must  go."  He  departed 
on  tiptoe,  and  Converse  tapped  lightly  upon  the  door. 

Full  of  wonder,  his  companions  waited  in  silence.  They 
heard  a  soft  fall  of  feet  on  the  other  side,  a  softer  swish  of 
feminine  skirts,  and  the  door  opened. 

Both  Clay  and  the  Doctor  uttered  low  exclamations  of 
astonishment,  for  the  open  portal  revealed  a  vision  of  daz- 
zling loveliness.  But  it  was  not  the  remarkable,  melancholy 
beauty  of  the  young  girl  that  moved  them  so  power- 
fully; not  the  faultless,  ivory-tinted  features,  nor  the  wealth 
of  silky  tresses  —  black  and  wavy,  like  Joyce's ;  nor  yet 
the  liquid  black  eyes  which  were  almost  a  counterpart  of 
Charlotte's:  they  were  wonderful  eyes,  but  oh,  so  sad! 
Instead,  it  was  the  unexpectedness  of  the  apparition,  a  con- 
viction of  having  seen  that  beautiful  face  before  —  the 
unparalleled  incongruity  of  associating  it  with  its  present 
setting  —  that  occasioned  such  intense  surprise.  Clay  at 
once  identified  her  with  the  girl  he  had  seen  while  in  this 
same  building  on  the  day  of  his  flight;  to  the  Doctor  the 
fancied  resemblance  was  fleeting,  incapable  of  being  fixed. 
But  he  succeeded  in  doing  this  later  on. 

Beyond  this  lovely  girl  with  the  sad,  heavy-lidded  eyes 
could  be  seen  a  large  room  with  whitewashed  walls,  lighted 
by  two  high,  barred  windows  which  overlooked  a  paved 
court  strewn  with  bottles  and  empty  wine-casks.  The 
room's  furnishings  were  austere  and  uninviting:  a  high 
wooden  bed,  a  plain  table  beside  it,  another  on  which  were  a 

[382] 


'That  is  Paquita' 

ewer  and  basin,  and  a  long  bench  extending  around  two  sides 
of  the  apartment  constituted  all  the  conveniences.  They 
might  have  served  a  monk,  but  scarcely  a  sick  man. 

Still  wondering,  the  party  followed  Mr.  Converse  into  the 
room,  and  as  they  did  so,  they  received  another  shock. 

A  wild,  terrifying  figure  reared  up  in  the  bed,  and,  sup- 
porting itself  on  an  elbow,  glared  at  the  intruders  like  some 
fierce  animal  of  the  wild  disturbed  in  its  den. 

"  Good  God ! "  burst  from  Doctor  Westbrook  as  he  recoiled 
from  this  spectacle.  "  How  came  you  here  and  in  this  plight  ?  " 

It  was  Senor  Vargas.  The  Doctor's  countenance  was 
eloquent  with  horror  and  amazement,  and  he  stood  petrified 
—  unconscious  of  Charlotte  clinging  to  his  arm,  blind  to  all 
else  except  the  wretched  creature,  fever-flushed  and  emaci- 
ated, now  staring  at  him  from  the  bed.  Suddenly  he  read 
aright;  he  recalled  the  significant  cough  while  the  man  was 
in  his  office,  and  again  at  the  inquest;  an  unconscious 
exposure  to  the  rigor  of  an  unfamiliar  climate,  and  a  severe 
cold,  had  forced  the  issue  of  life  and  death. 

Converse  drew  near  to  Charlotte  and  glanced  at  her  with 
a  whimsically  lifted  brow. 

"  And  this  is  what  you  discovered  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Here  is  where  I  have  spent  the  last  few  weeks.  As  soon 
as  Vargas  became  ill  he  had  himself  removed  here  —  to  be 
with  the  girl." 

"  Oh,  there  are  so  many  things  I  cannot  understand, " 
she  returned.  "What  did  that  creature  Adams  mean  by 
saying  that  Howard  Lynden  — 

A  quick  alteration  in  his  manner  made  her  pause  and 
regard  him  anxiously.  At  once  Converse  made  a  little 
grimace  of  disgust. 

[383] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"It  was  very  simple,"  said  he.  "Lynden  was  a  poor 
weakling,  without  any  will  of  his  own.  Adams  merely  bent 
him  to  his  own  purposes.  Lynden  saw  the  Doctor  standing 
over  the  dying  De  Sanchez;  Adams  made  him  think  he  had 
seen  the  rest.  It  presents  a  peculiar  psychological  condition, 
fortunately  rare,  but  by  no  means  unprecedented.  That 
young  fellow  has  very  wisely  effaced  himself.  You  will 
never  see  him  again." 

At  this  moment  Charlotte  caught  the  melancholy  eyes  of 
the  beautiful  girl  directed  toward  her. 

"How  superb!"  she  murmured.  "She  is  like  a  breath 
from  the  Orient;  she  fills  the  mind  like  Coleridge's  'damsel 
with  a  dulcimer.'  Who  is  she?" 

"That,"  whispered  Converse,  "is  Paquita." 


[884] 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  SERPENT  STRIKES 

AS  in  its  last  outburst  a  dying  volcano  is  said  to  vomit 
forth  its  hottest  flow  of  lava,  so  did  the  perfervid  words 
pour  from  the  lips  of  Vargas.  But  the  malevolence 
and  implacable  hate  revealed  in  the  man's  look  and  tone, 
in  the  bitter  denunciation  of  his  utterance,  were  so  intense 
that  the  scene  amounted  at  times  to  an  almost  unendurable 
ordeal 

The  tale  he  unfolded  was  one  of  wrong  and  betrayal,  of  a 
heartlessness  unbelievable,  and  it  was  plain  that  years  of 
brooding  had  made  of  revenge  an  obsession,  a  fixed  idea 
that  gave  him  the  cunning  to  work  out  his  ends,  patience  to 
abide  his  opportunity,  ingenuity  in  concealing  his  identity 
and  purpose,  truly  marvellous. 

"Years  ago,"  his  story  began,  after  an  outburst  that  left 
him  nearly  exhausted,  "my  father,  my  mother,  my  sister, 
and  I  lived  in  Seville.  There  it  was  that  I  was  born;  so  you 
see,  senores,  I  am  not  of  Mexico,  but  of  Spain.  There  it  was 
that  I  was  happy,  though  cruelly  poor.  I  was  young  and 
strong,  and  from  a  small  lad  up  to  manhood  I  was  ever  work- 
ing to  perfect  myself  in  all  the  tricks  of  a  juggler's  calling. 
Ah,  senores,  I  made  an  art  of  it.  At  one  time  I,  Fernando 
del  Castillo,  was  the  greatest,  the  most  adept  juggler  in  the 
whole  of  Europe.  There  is  none  who  knew  me  then  that  will 
deny  it.  But  it  came  natural  to  me,  senores;  even  before 
I  was  twenty  I  excelled  them  all,  just  as  my  sister,  the  little 

[385] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Paquita,  the  sunshine  and  gladness  of  my  father's  house,  was 
more  beautiful,  more  graceful,  and  lighter  of  foot  —  ah,  such 
a  tiny  foot  it  was !  —  than  any  woman  within  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Spain. 

"Sefiores,  it  is  her  brother  who  is  telling  the  tale;  he 
loved  her  with  a  tenderness  beyond  the  power  of  words  to 
express.  But  you  should  have  beheld  her  in  those  days: 
beautiful  —  beautiful  she  was,  her  voice  like  a  bird's  for  very 
sweetness;  and  there  was  none  who  could  make  such  a 
living,  breathing  poem  of  a  tango  or  a  joto;  none  who  could 
glance  at  you  with  such  sparkling  eyes,  firing  the  blood  and 
the  brain  like  old  wine;  none  that  could  flash  such  pearly 
teeth  between  such  coaxing  lips  —  lips  like  the  soft  petals  of 
a  crimson  rose.  It  was  her  fame  that  spread  beyond  Seville 
to  Madrid,  and  even  to  Paris. 

"  In  Paris  the  fame  of  Paquita  and  Fernando  —  for  so 
were  we  known  —  was  on  every  tongue.  God  knows  she 
was  innocent  enough  then,  and  content  with  the  love  and 
companionship  of  her  brother.  God  knows  that  in  those 
days  we  were  sufficient  each  unto  the  other,  and  happy, 
senores  —  happy.  .  .  . 

"But  it  ended." 

De  Sanchez,  at  that  time  attending  college  in  Paris,  on 
the  strength  of  his  knowledge  of  Castillo's  uncle,  Don  Juan 
Sebastian  del  Castillo,  attained  an  intimacy  with  Paquita 
and  Fernando  that  led  to  disaster  for  the  girl.  Don  Juan 
had  long  been  a  resident  of  Mexico,  and  was  a  man  of 
wealth  and  affairs. 

"There  was  a  certain  dance  of  my  sister's,"  said  Vargas, 
—  or  Castillo,  to  give  him  his  proper  name, — "  that  always 
held  the  audience  spellbound.  It  was  of  her  own  devising; 

[386] 


The  Serpent  Strikes 

born  of  her  warm  Southern  blood  and  her  romantic  heart. 
Ah,  senores,  it  was  a  thing  of  beauty  —  a  perfect  treasure 
of  art.  With  the  lithe  movements  of  her  dainty  body,  the 
dropping  of  her  lashes,  the  flashing  of  her  starlike  eyes,  the 
curving  of  her  ripe,  crimson  lips  —  either  in  a  smile  of  witch- 
ery or  of  scorn  and  disdain, —  she  told  a  tale  of  love  and 
disappointment,  of  betrayal  and  revenge.  Truly  was  it  in- 
spired of  the  evil  that  later  was  to  befall  herself. 

"When,  at  the  end,  she  would  flash  a  dagger  from  her 
garter  with  the  swiftness  of  a  serpent  darting  from  its  coil, 
the  audience  would  rise  to  her  and  cry  '  Brava ! '  until  the 
walls  reverberated.  Ah,  it  was  marvellous !  Is  it  strange  that 
I  adored  her  ? 

"Upon  the  very  night,  senores,  that  she  innocently  re- 
vealed her  love  for  De  Sanchez,  he  brought  to  her  a  dagger. 
Many  days  passed  before  I  knew  of  this,  because,  for  the  first 
time,  I  was  not  remembered  with  a  gift  also. 

"  '  Paquita  mia!  '  I  cried,  holding  the  pretty  toy  in  my 
hand,  'Paquita  mia,  how  could  you  do  me,  your  brother, 
this  cruel  wrong  ?  ' 

"  '  He  loves  me,'  she  whispered,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  not  daring  to  look  me  in  the  eyes. 

'  Loves  you ! '  I  cried.  '  Have  I  not  loved  you  since  the 
day  you  were  born  ?  '  And  right  there,  senores,  the  first 
great  lesson  of  this  life  came  to  me.  For  the  first  time  there 
was  no  response  in  her  bosom  to  the  emotion  in  my  own  —  to 
the  yearning  of  my  heart  —  and  I  became  faint,  my  spirit  sick. 
'  I  love  him,'  she  gasped,  faintly,  her  hand  on  her  heart, 
and  bending  her  head  still  lower. 

'  O  Paquita !     Paquita ! '  was  all  that  I  could  say  in  my 
sorrow.     '  Love  him  ?     This  is  madness.     Behold,  you  are 

[387] 


The  Silver  Blade 

unhappy  even  now,  and  never  before  this  hour  has  a  shadow 
of  sorrow  fallen  between  you  and  me.' 

"  '  This  is  different,'  she  murmured,  her  head  still  bowed, 
her  hand  still  striving  to  restrain  the  wild  beating  of  her 
heart.  '  We  are  to  be  wed.' 

"As  I  was  turning  to  leave  her,  she  suddenly  burst  into 
tears  and  threw  herself  upon  my  breast.  '  Oh,  you  are  wrong ! 
You  are  wrong ! '  she  cried,  looking  for  the  first  time  into  my 
eyes,  but  through  tears,  devouring  my  doubts  in  the  fire  of 
her  passion.  Senores,  think  of  a  joy  drowned  in  tears! 
'  O  my  brother,'  she  cried,  '  you  are  wrong,  for  I  was  never 
so  happy  in  my  life!  I  love  him!  I  love  him!  Say  that 
you  are  not  angry;  say  that  you  love  me,  too;  tell  me  that 
you  will  never  leave  me;  for  I  am  afraid.'  And  she  clung 
to  me  with  a  wild  strength  that  you  will  not  believe. 

"  It  was  not  long  after  that  night  that  I  learned  the  whole 
story. 

'  When  next  you  dance,'  said  De  Sanchez,  as  he  handed 
her  the  dagger, '  wear  this  token  of  my  love  for  you.' 

"  '  And  do  you  love  me  ?  '  she  replied,  seeking  to  read 
through  his  black  eyes  the  blacker  soul  behind. 

"  '  Here  is  a  symbol  of  the  True  Cross,'  he  said,  placing 
his  hand  upon  the  cross  of  the  dagger's  hilt,  and  upon  her 
hand ;  '  let  it  be  the  emblem  of  our  faith,  each  in  the  other's 
love.' 

'And  here  is  the  sharpness  of  a  serpent's  tooth,'  she 
said,  placing  a  little  finger-tip  upon  the  dagger's  point;  for 
you  see  —  God  help  her!  —  deep  in  her  heart  she  mistrusted 
him  at  that  moment,  and  did  not  know  it. 

"  'May  it  sting  me  to  death  if  I  am  not  forever  true  to 
you,'  he  uttered  solemnly,  before  she  could  finish. 

[388] 


The  Serpent  Strikes 

"Again  she  strove  to  search  his  soul. 

"  'My  ears  never  weary  of  it,'  she  said;  'once  more,  do 
you  love  me  ?  ' 

'Once  more,  my  Paquita,  life  of  my  life,  soul  of  my 
soul.  Once  more,  if  my  heart  is  ever  false  to  you  may  this 
token  of  our  troth  still  it  forever.'  ' 

So  a  mockery  of  a  ceremony  led  to  five  short  months  of 
almost  delirious  happiness,  and  then  — 

"Then,  hear!"  gasped  the  dying  man.  "In  five  short 
months  he  tired  of  her,  my  beautiful  one;  he  laughed  at  her 
and  the  babe  unborn  when  she  called  him  husband;  and 
there  was  another  woman  —  a  woman  of  Paris.  ... 

"  Is  it  not  enough  that  he  had  won  her  heart,  then  thrown 
it  torn  and  bleeding  into  the  dirt  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that  his 
every  word  had  been  false ;  that  he  had  betrayed  her ;  that 
he  left  her  without  a  name  for  her  child  ?  Is  it  not  enough 
that  he  had  won  God's  own  gift,  the  love  of  a  pure  woman, 
and  that  it  was  to  him  of  such  little  value  that  he  trampled 
it  beneath  his  feet;  that  he  made  what  was  priceless  a  thing 
of  no  value  —  of  mockery  and  derision  ?  Yet  all  this  he  did ; 
and  can  you  believe  me,  —  a  man  pleading  with  death  to  wait 
till  he  shall  finish,  —  that  this  was  not  the  worst  ?  As  I  hope 
for  mercy  from  the  God  I  am  about  to  face;  as  I  hope  for 
the  intercession  of  the  Virgin  Mother,  it  is  not!  " 

After  a  daughter  was  born  to  the  luckless  dancer,  the 
brother  and  sister  began  a  wandering  that  carried  them 
through  many  lands.  Always  before  them,  like  an  evil  star, 
gleamed  the  compelling  idea,  revenge ;  and  after  more  than 
a  decade  it  guided  them  to  Mexico,  where  De  Sanchez  and 
General  Westbrook  were  conducting  a  banking  business. 
They  learned  that  their  uncle  there  had  died  more  than  a 

[389] 


The  Silver  Blade 

year  previous  to  their  arrival,  and  that  his  property  had  been 
entirely  dissipated  in  a  series  of  disastrous  investments  cover- 
ing a  period  of  several  years  before  his  death.  The  banking 
concern  of  De  Sanchez  &  Westbrook  were  the  administra- 
tors of  the  Castillo  estate. 

"  Then,  senores,  almost  without  warning  came  the  blackest 
time  of  all. 

"  Of  a  sudden,  a  scourge  of  smallpox  fell  upon  the  city, 
and  in  a  day  those  who  lived  in  the  poorer  quarter  were 
dying  like  flies  in  a  frost.  My  beloved  sister  was  among  the 
very  first  upon  whom  that  horrible  blight  fastened,  and  she 
was  sorely  stricken. 

"There  is  a  period  during  those  days  that  is  lost  from 
my  recollection;  my  senses  were  dulled  as  by  an  opiate, 
and  I  can  remember  only  a  bit  here  and  there,  as  one 
remembers  parts  of  a  nightmare.  The  sickness  came  so 
suddenly  that  I  had  no  time  to  send  the  little  Paquita 
away;  but  by  the  mercy  of  the  Holy  Mother  did  she  escape 
the  terrible  evil  that  had  laid  its  hand  so  sorely  upon  her 
mother. 

"But  my  sister,  senores!  Steadily  she  grew  worse; 
steadily  she  sank  lower  and  lower;  and  one  day  —  the  day 
she  was  at  her  lowest  —  I  gave  to  the  doctor  the  last  gold- 
piece. 

"  He  would  come  no  more. 

"  So  I  sat  by  my  sister.  In  her  madness  she  talked,  now 
of  the  times  when  we  were  happy  together;  now  of  the  times 
when  Alberto  de  Sanchez,  el  mas  perfido,  came  into  her  life. 
More  often  it  was  of  him. 

"  Asi,  as  I  sat,  I  was  myself  stricken ;  my  head  suddenly 
became  heavy,  and  a  pain  as  from  a  knife  thrust  seized  upon 

f  3901 


The  Serpent  Strikes 

my  loins.     I  was  giddy  and  weak ;  but  at  that  moment  I  rose 
up  and  passed  out  of  our  house. 

"Senores,  you  will  not  believe  it  of  me  —  a  dying  man; 
but,  I  swear  by  the  Virgin  of  Guadalupe,  that  what  I  now 
tell  you  is  true.  I  forgot  everything  —  everything  but  my 
present  distress ;  and  I  went  to  seek  aid  for  my  sister  of  los 
Senores  de  Sanchez  and  Westbrook,  where  they  sat  at  ease 
in  their  banking-house.  God,  but  I  was  desperate! 

"I  might  have  known  how  it  would  fall  out.  Had  De 
Sanchez  then  shown  a  little  tenderness,  senores,  a  little 
compassion,  a  little  remorse  for  the  past,  I  might  have 
forgiven  him ;  but  he  merely  stood  silent,  eyeing  me  sideways 
with  an  odd  look. 

"  Of  a  sudden  it  came  to  an  end.  He  grasped  the  Senor 
Westbrook's  arm  and  drew  him  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
room. 

"' Back !' cried  he,  '  al  instante  —  immediately;  this  fel- 
low is  in  the  delirium  of  smallpox.' 

"How  I  was  thrust  forth  into  the  street,  how  a  great 
night  of  forgetfulness  closed  down  upon  me,  how  I  awoke 
many  days  later  in  the  pest-camp,  is  not  to  be  told  by  me. 

"  Now,  senores,  oiga  —  listen. 

"  While  I  lay  in  my  sleep  of  forgetfulness,  Paquita  crept 
to  where  the  gold  and  silver  dagger  was  kept,  and  thrust  it 
into  her  heart. 

"  So  did  it  end  for  her. 

"Certain  poor  women  of  the  neighborhood  tended  my 
sister  and  cared  for  the  little  Paquita.  These  had  once 
survived  the  smallpox,  and  they  feared  it  not.  Heaven  give 
them  many  days  to  enjoy  the  life  that  I  was  afterwards  able 
to  make  easier  for  them! 

[391] 


The  Silver  Blade 

"  By  the  hands  of  one  of  these  the  dagger  came  to  me  — 
all  that  I  possessed  in  the  world  except  the  humble  clothes 
upon  my  back,  poor  and  much  worn. 

"  I  looked  into  a  mirror,  and  I  laughed,  senores.  I  laughed 
the  laugh  of  a  man  whose  heart  is  dead.  Then  I  threw  my 
scrape  over  my  shoulder  and  strode  from  the  pest-camp. 

"In  the  old  days,  senores,  I  was  accounted  a  handsome 
man;  I  was  vain  and  much  of  a  dandy.  My  complexion 
was  lighter  than  you  see  it  now;  there  was  a  curl  to  my  hair 
that  I  was  proud  of;  my  features  were  regular,  and  there  was 
an  erectness  to  my  figure,  a  nimbleness  in  all  my  movements, 
and  a  suppleness  that  had  followed  naturally  on  the  practice 
of  my  calling. 

"  Now,  what  I  beheld  in  the  mirror  was  a  man  altogether 
different,  and  I  had  no  fear  that  any  one  might  recognize  me. 
I  drew  the  dagger  from  my  sash;  I  pressed  my  lips  to  the 
dark  stains  upon  its  silver  blade. 

"  At  that  moment,  senores,  Fernando  del  Castillo  died  to 
the  world;  and  Juan  Sebastian  de  Vargas  was  born  — 
bound  irrevocably  to  a  vow  of  vengeance." 

After  his  return  to  the  city  Castillo  sought  out  his  niece. 
Let  him  speak  again: 

" ' Mi  Paquita  poco,'  said  I,  taking  her  sweet  face  between 
my  hands  —  so  —  when  she  had  come  to  know  me  for  her 
uncle  and  the  tears  of  her  greeting  were  dry,  'Paquita  mi  a, 
henceforth,  and  in  memory  of  the  great  sorrow  that  was 
thy  mother's  and  mine,  thou  shalt  be  Dolores.  May  God 
and  the  Blessed  Virgin  ever  fend  you  from  the  like! '  And, 
repeating  my  vow  inwardly  as  a  prayer,  I  kissed  her  solemnly 
and  departed,  leaving  her  in  the  care  of  the  women,  who  had 
come  to  love  her  as  their  own." 

[392] 


The  Serpent  Strikes 

After  pawning  the  dagger  to  an  American  dealer  in 
curios,  he  departed  for  the  mines.  Thence  onward  his 
progress  was  marked  by  success  from  a  worldly  point  of  view, 
and  he  was  soon  able  to  establish  intimate  business  relations 
with  the  object  of  his  hatred.  Two  incidents  marked  his 
return  to  the  city,  both  of  which  were  destined  to  exercise  a 
powerful  influence  over  the  future.  One  was  the  fact  that 
the  dealer  with  whom  he  had  left  the  dagger  as  a  pledge  had 
departed,  no  one  knew  whither,  and  the  dagger  was  not  to 
be  found ;  the  other  was  the  astonishing  intelligence,  acquired 
by  an  infinity  of  toil  and  patient  waiting,  that  De  Sanchez 
and  General  Westbrook  were  responsible  for  his  uncle's 
bankruptcy.  The  General  was  straightway  included  in  his 
hatred  and  scheme  of  vengeance. 

But  a  controlling  strain  of  fatalism  and  superstition  in  the 
man  stayed  his  hand;  he  was  convinced  that  his  sister's 
dagger  would  come  to  him  again;  that  its  return  would  be 
the  signal  to  strike;  and  he  bided  the  time,  watching  De 
Sanchez  as  a  cat  might  watch  the  mouse  marked  for  its  prey. 
With  instinctive  caution,  though,  Castillo  had  avoided  Gen- 
eral Westbrook,  so  the  latter  never  became  familiar  with  his 
presence  and  appearance.  He  continued: 

"I  gradually  won  the  confidence  of  Alberto  de  Sanchez; 
soon  we  had  immense  interests  in  common  —  here  —  there  — 
everywhere;  and  these,  I  always  took  care,  should  be  profit- 
able for  him,  even  though  I  might  lose  thereby  myself. 

"  But  never,  for  some  reason,  could  I  gain  his  unreserved 
friendship,  though  I  strove  to  that  end  daily.  There  was 
something  intangible,  unnamable,  unseen  by  either  of  us, 
that  ever  stood  between  him  and  me,  and  this  I  could  not 
overcome.  Nothing  could  have  surprised  my  mask  of  a 

[3931 


The  Silver  Blade 

face  or  my  near-sighted  eyes  into  betraying,  by  so  much  as 
would  cover  a  needle's  point,  the  seething  fire  of  hate  for 
this  man  that  burned  within ;  but  as  I  watched  him,  unceas- 
ingly, I  caught  now  and  then  a  puzzled  look  in  his  eyes  as 
they  regarded  Juan  de  Vargas  —  an  expression  in  which 
there  was  something  of  fear;  and  I  knew  that  he  was  re- 
minded, in  a  dim  way,  of  the  evil  he  had  done.  There  was 
something  in  my  presence  that  made  him  ponder  without 
understanding,  and  would  not  allow  him  to  forget. 

"  In  many  ways  Alberto  de  Sanchez,  without  knowing  it, 
allowed  to  escape  him  that  upon  which  his  mind  was  turning 
when  his  brooding  glance  rested  upon  me.  Once,  at  the 
organization  of  a  mining  company  in  which  I  then  had  some 
small  interest,  the  question  of  a  name  arose.  The  Senor  de 
Sanchez  was  regarding  me  with  the  wondering  look  that  had 
become  so  familiar. 

" '  Paquita,'  he  said,  half  aloud,  as  one  musing,  'The 
Paquita  Gold  Mining  and  Milling  Company.'  And  I, 
senores  —  I  perforce  led  the  laugh  that  followed,  the  while 
my  fingers  twitched  for  his  throat. 

"What  emotions  stirred  uneasily  in  that  dark  bosom, 
senores  ?  Quien  sabe  ?  " 

During  this  time  General  Westbrook  was  usually  in  the 
United  States.  On  one  occasion  Joyce  accompanied  him  to 
Mexico,  and  De  Sanchez  fell  madly  in  love  with  her. 

"As  you  know,"  said  Castillo,  "the  Senor  Westbrook's 
one  virtue  was  his  regard  for  and  pride  in  his  family;  for 
their  sake  had  he  resorted  to  infamy.  He  knew  the  Senor 
de  Sanchez  to  be  a  rascal ;  he  might  do  very  well  as  a  business 
associate;  but  deliver  his  cherished  daughter  into  that 
rascal's  possession?  No.  On  the  other  hand,  De  Sanchez 

[3941 


The  Serpent  Strikes 

had  that  which  could  defeat  the  very  object  of  the  other's 
villany  —  knowledge  of  it.  He  had  but  to  come  forward 
with  the  proofs,  and  the  proud  General  would  be  humbled 
to  the  dust ;  his  name  would  become  an  execration  on  the  lips 
of  his  friends ;  his  fortune  would  be  taken  from  him  —  all 
that  for  which  he  had  stolen  would  be  lost.  However 
great  as  a  soldier  the  Senor  Westbrook  might  have  been,  he 
was  a  coward  here;  and  De  Sanchez  was  too  cunning  and 
shrewd  a  scoundrel  to  overlook  this  weak  spot  in  striving  for 
his  ends.  Fate  had  started  this  game  of  conflicting  interests, 
and  I  had  but  to  watch  and  encourage  it.  Of  course,  you 
would  say,  the  Senor  de  Sanchez  would  have  likewise  ruined 
himself  by  such  an  exposure;  but  to  such  a  madness  was  he 
driven,  when  the  senorita  was  not  immediately  given  to  him, 
that  I  feared  for  a  time  he  would  destroy  all. 

"At  last  it  fell  out  as  you  might  expect;  they  quarrelled 
and  severed  their  partnership.  De  Sanchez,  still  holding 
the  threat  over  the  other,  accepted  a  compromise  because  he 
was  made  to  see  he  had  to.  The  Senor  Westbrook  pointed 
out  that  his  daughter  was  too  young ;  that  while  such  a  mar- 
riage might  be  popular  enough  in  Mexico,  it  would  precipitate 
nothing  short  of  social  disaster  in  the  States.  Such  matters 
were  regarded  and  arranged  quite  differently  here:  the 
senorita's  wishes  had  to  be  considered ;  were  the  matter  laid 
before  her,  she  would  develop  a  will  of  her  own ;  and  so,  and 
so,  until  that  son  of  a  devil  agreed  to  wait  four  years.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  he  was  to  present  himself  to  claim  his  bride, 
and  she  was  to  be  prepared  for  the  great  event  during  the 
time  of  waiting.  I  believe  the  Senor  Westbrook's  life  was 
embittered ;  I  believe  he  said  nothing  of  all  this  to  his  charm- 
ing daughter;  it  is  my  idea  that  he  attempted  to  put  off  the 

[395] 


The  Silver  Blade 

evil  until  the  day  thereof,  hoping  that  time  would  deliver  him 
from  his  trouble;  and  so  he  returned  with  the  senorita  to  his 
own  country,  there  to  face  as  best  he  could  the  day  when  it 
should  confront  him. 

"  When  the  time  had  nearly  passed,  I  cunningly  laid  my 
plans  so  that  I  could  follow  naturally  the  Senor  de  Sanchez 
when  he  went  to  your  country.  Dolores  I  brought  with  me 
privately,  as  you  know,  and  lodged  her  and  the  woman  who 
has  tended  her  since  her  mother's  death,  here  where  I  knew 
she  would  be  well  cared  for.  For  her  I  had  a  particular 
task.  Because  of  the  blood  that  was  in  her  veins  —  because 
she  was  the  pledge  of  that  wretched  union  —  I  intended  that 
she  should  share  in  the  revenge,  though,  for  the  sake  of  her 
future,  innocently. 

"I  went  with  Alberto  de  Sanchez  to  the  office  of  the 
Senor  Doctor  on  a  certain  night,  pondering,  as  I  walked 
along,  the  progress  of  my  companion's  love  affair,  and  know- 
ing from  his  silence  and  his  scowling  brow  —  for  we  were 
alone  together  —  that  it  was  not  to  his  liking. 

"We  went  slowly  down  the  hall  leading  to  the  Senor 
Doctor's  apartment,  and  my  heart  leaped;  something  whis- 
pered in  my  brain,  *  This  is  the  place ! '  I  must  observe  the 
doors,  the  windows,  all  the  possibilities.  This  I  did.  We 
entered  the  apartment  of  the  Senor  Doctor. 

"But  where  was  the  dagger? 

"  I  should  not  have  been  astonished  had  it  come  floating 
down  from  the  ceiling  into  my  hand.  My  brain  was  like  a 
theatre  in  which  was  being  enacted  all  that  happened  seven- 
teen years  before,  and  still  I  was  calm.  In  the  other  room, 
where  the  Doctor  and  the  Senor  de  Sanchez  were,  I  heard 
that  which  confirmed  my  suspicions  concerning  his  love 

[396] 


The  Serpent  Strikes 

affair.  Surely  Alberto  de  Sanchez  would  never  have  the 
opportunity  of  wronging  his  sister  as  he  had  wronged  mine. 
Then,  senores,  those  two  —  deep  in  their  own  concerns  — 
did  not  hear  the  cry  that  burst  from  my  throat. 

"  There,  before  me  on  a  table,  half  covered  by  a  paper, 
lay  something  bright  and  shining;  my  eyes  caught  a  glint  of 
silver  and  gold. 

"  I  tore  the  paper  away  and  beheld  —  my  sister's  dagger! 

"  At  last !  At  last !  The  blood  sang  in  my  veins  for  very 
joy.  At  last,  Alberto  de  Sanchez  —  now  that  your  time  has 
come,  laugh  as  you  laughed  in  my  sister's  face!  Spurn  the 
blade  from  your  throat  as  you  spurned  her  helpless  pleading ! 
Flee  from  me,  the  avenger  of  many  horrid  wrongs,  as  you 
fled  from  the  stricken  girl !  Ah,  you  cannot  do  it.  Alberto 
de  Sanchez,  a  hundred-fold  accursed  —  son  of  hell  —  liar  — 
betrayer  of  women  —  look !  Your  time  has  come  —  at 
last! 

"Together,  my  Paquita  and  I  had  a  trick  with  the  knives 
that  —  even  if  it  be  I  that  say  it  —  was  wonderful  to  behold. 
It  was  our  gr~nd  climax,  and  oh,  the  sensation  it  would 
create !  —  the  astonishment  of  our  audiences !  You  have 
seen  it,  but  it  was  new  in  those  days.  Pouf  I  't  was  easy. 

"  Well,  senores,  the  next  evening  after  I  had  awaited  Al- 
berto de  Sanchez's  coming  a  sufficient  time  at  the  'otel, 
I  took  up  my  stand  at  the  entrance  of  the  Field  Building.  I 
rolled  a  cigarette  and  lighted  it,  and  as  I  tossed  the  match 
away,  I  saw  him  coming  confidently  as  of  old.  God,  how  I 
hated  him  then ! 

"I  walked  leisurely  up  the  Field  Building  stairway, 
knowing  that  I  need  not  hurry,  and  down  the  hall  to  the 
window  overlooking  the  —  what  you  call  the  little  space  ?  — 

[397] 


The  Silver  Blade 

light-well  ?  Gracias,  senor.  Not  too  close,  for  there  might 
be  some  one  to  observe  me  at  the  other  windows.  Looking 
across  the  light-well,  I  could  see  the  whole  length  of  the  other 
hall  —  that  along  which  he  was  to  approach  me.  Ah,  how 
beautifully  it  was  all  arranged,  for  I  was  in  darkness,  while 
he  would  be  in  the  light. 

"So  I  stood  there  smoking  my  cigarette,  one  arm  folded 
across  my  breast  —  so  —  the  hand  thereof  resting  on  the 
dagger  in  my  pocket  —  for  I  had  taken  it  from  the  Senor 
Doctor's  desk;  and  presently  I  saw  a  woman  flit  swiftly 
across  the  hall  from  the  Senor  Doctor's  office  and  vanish. 
I  had  no  time  to  wonder  at  this,  for  at  the  same  instant  I 
beheld  Alberto  de  Sanchez  appear  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
and  turn  toward  the  Senor  Doctor's  office  —  toward  me! 

"  Was  there  then  a  thought  of  Paquita  —  of  Fernando 
del  Castillo  in  his  mind  ? 

"  Listen,  and  you  shall  judge. 

"As  he  approached  nearer  and  nearer,  the  light  before 
the  Senor  Doctor's  office  shone  with  a  growing  brightness 
upon  his  handsome  face;  and  presently  I  noted  there  the 
look  of  doubt,  as  though  the  soul  were  asking  a  question  of 
his  memory  which  it  could  not  answer;  the  look  with  which 
he  had  ever  regarded  Juan  Vargas. 

" '  When  he  stands  beneath  the  light,'   I  whispered  - 
'then!' 

"Ah,  and  then! 

"  When  he  arrived  beneath  the  light,  I  threw  my  cigarette 
out  of  the  window,  seized  the  dagger  by  its  silver  blade  — 
as  in  the  old  days  —  and  raised  it  above  my  head.     Whether 
it  was  one  or  the  other  of  these  movements  that  caught  his 
eye,  I  do  not  know.     He  was  facing  me  then,  and  suddenly 

[398] 


The  Serpent  Strikes 

he  looked  at  me.  Ah,  senores,  it  did  my  heart  good  to  behold 
his  expression  change,  even  as  I  had  often  pictured  it.  His 
memory,  at  last,  had  given  the  soul  its  answer,  and  terror 
shone  from  his  eyes  —  he  recognized  Fernando  del  Castillo 
in  the  avenging  figure  that  confronted  him. 

"Taking  a  step  backward,  so  that  my  hand  might  not 
strike  the  sash  of  the  window,  I  prayed,  '  Soul  of  Paquita, 
strengthen  my  arm  to  avenge  thee ! ' 

"Then  I  threw  the  dagger.   .    .    . 

"The  hand  of  Alberto  de  Sanchez  was  raised  as  though 
to  ward  off  the  death  now  upon  him;  but  the  silver  blade 
sped  across  the  light-well  like  a  lightning  from  the  clouds; 
and  even  as  I  aimed  it,  so  did  it  strike.  I  saw  it  sticking 
there ;  I  saw  the  horror  and  the  brilliance  die  suddenly  from 
his  eyes,  like  the  turning  down  of  a  lamp;  I  saw  his  knees 
give  way;  he  began  to  fall  —  and  I  knew  that  Alberto  de 
Sanchez  was  a  dead  man. 

"Truly  had  the  serpent's  tooth  stung  the  lying  betrayer; 
the  false  heart  had  been  stilled  forever  by  the  symbol  of  its 
faithless  love." 


399  ] 


CHAPTER  III 

WHICH  IS  THE  LAST 

S  for  General  Westbrook,  Castillo  protested  that  he 
had  meant  in  the  end  to  spare  his  life,  but  that  the 
former  had  himself  precipitated  the  tragedy.  On 
the  night  the  two  met  in  the  lobby  of  the  La  Salle  House, 
Castillo  overheard  Slade  cursing  the  General  beneath  his 
breath,  and  at  once  the  idea  dawned  in  his  mind  to  use  the 
abstracter  as  a  tool.  Irrefutable  evidence  of  the  one-time 
banking  firm's  illegal  disposition  of  Don  Juan's  estate  had 
been  prepared  by  Castillo,  and  this  evidence  was  placed  in 
Slade's  possession,  leading  directly  to  an  outcome  which 
neither  could  have  expected. 

In  the  meantime  Castillo  had  put  in  operation  his  scheme 
against  the  General,  by  having  Dolores  write  and  direct  to 
him  letters  of  such  a  nature  that  the  recipient  would  be  ap- 
prised of  the  fact  that  his  wrongdoing  was  known  to  others, 
while  he  remained  ignorant  of  their  identity.  It  was  a  move 
calculated  to  fill  him  with  an  extremity  of  fear  and  appre- 
hension. In  fact,  his  alarm  was  so  intense  that  it  drove  him 
to  seek  out  Vargas  —  as  he  supposed  Castillo  to  be  —  in  the 
hope  of  hearing  something  of  "Paquita  and  Fernando." 
At  this  interview  Castillo  disclosed  his  identity,  and  General 
Westbrook,  in  a  panic  of  terror,  staggered  from  the  hotel. 
Later  he  addressed  a  frantic  appeal  to  the  other  to  come  to 
his  study  at  midnight  —  the  night  that  proved  to  be  the  last 
for  him. 

[400] 


Which  is  the  Last 

"The  Senor  General  was  writing  at  his  table,"  said  Cas- 
tillo of  this  occasion,  "waiting  and  watching  for  me.  I 
crossed  the  gallery  without  noise,  and  beheld  him  before  he 
could  see  me,  I  being  in  the  dark.  He  had  twisted  his  chair 
around  so  that  it  faced  the  window,  which  was  like  a  door. 

"How  nervous  the  gallant  Senor  General  was!  When  I 
advanced,  unannounced,  into  the  square  of  light  before  the 
window,  he  was  so  startled  that  he  sprang  from  his  chair, 
colliding  with  it  as  he  moved  backward,  tripping  over  its 
legs  so  that  he  would  have  fallen  had  it  not  been  waiting  to 
receive  him  again. 

" '  This  is  not  the  ghost  of  Fernando  del  Castillo,  senor,' 
I  said;  '  perhaps  it  would  be  pleasanter  for  you  if  it  were  — 
si  ? '  But  he  composed  himself  quickly.  He  was  still  white 
and  worn;  still  nervous  and  distracted;  still  a  very  old, 
broken  man;  but  he  did  not  forget  that  he  was  beneath  his 
own  roof,  and  that  a  visitor  was  trusting  to  his  hospitality.  .  .  . 
'  Enter,  Don  Fernando/  said  he,  in  his  grandest  manner,  '  I 
cannot  express  in  words  my  appreciation  of  your  courtesy 
in  responding  to  my  request.  Enter.'  And  I  advanced 
into  the  room.  .  .  .  '  You  may  show  it,'  said  I,  '  by  telling 
me  quickly  why  I  am  so  honored.'  With  a  breaking  voice 
he  said :  '  Senor,  senor,  this  night  I  pray  God  to  soften  your 
heart.  'T  is  not  for  myself  —  no,  no !  God  knows  it  is  not ; 
but  my  wife  —  my  daughter  —  my  son  —  think  of  them ; 
think  of  the  humiliation  and  disgrace  more  bitter  than  death. 
Do  not  spare  me,  but  pity  them.'  .  .  .  '  Were  you  so 
immersed  in  thought  of  them,'  I  asked,  'were  you  so  solicitous 
of  their  welfare,  that  you  failed  to  hear  me  pleading  for  my 
dying  sister ?'  .  .  .  '  You  do  not  understand,'  he  moaned; 
'  you  do  not  understand.  It  is  of  that  that  I  desire  to  speak. 

[401] 


The  Silver  Blade 

Hear  me.'  ...  'I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  you/  said  I.  I 
was  seated  close  by  the  open  window,  and  I  made  myself 
comfortable  to  hear  his  tale. 

"  I  must  pass  hastily  over  it,  senores.  It  was  much  as  I 
expected  it  would  be;  and  —  will  you  believe  me?  —  as  I 
hearkened  my  heart  began  to  soften  to  him;  for,  after  all, 
senores,  he  was  as  far  from  being  so  great  a  knave  and  villain 
as  Alberto  de  Sanchez,  as  Heaven  is  from  Purgatory.  He 
was  so  willing  to  take  all  upon  his  own  head  —  to  harvest 
the  fruit  of  his  own  evil  sowing;  his  sole  anxiety  was  for  his 
family,  and  especially  the  beautiful  senorita,  his  daughter  — 
that  I  felt  something  of  pity  for  that  broken,  wicked  old  man. 

' '  See/  said  he,  holding  up  certain  writings  upon  which 
he  had  been  engaged  when  I  entered,  '  even  now  I  am  pre- 
paring a  statement  of  my  share  of  the  administration  of  Don 
Juan's  estate;  every  penny  that  I  touched  then  —  and  God 
knows  I  would  have  been  spared  this  moment  had  I  known 
you  were  alive  when  the  temptation  assailed  me  —  has  been 
accounted  for;  every  penny  that  I  touched  has  been  returned, 
though  to  do  so  has  left  me  a  poverty-stricken  man.  Sore 
necessity  and  a  conviction  that  no  one  but  the  State  would 
profit  by  Don  Juan's  death  were  the  means  of  my  undoing. 
Even  as  you  thought  of  your  sister,  so  was  I  overwhelmed  by 
the  thought  of  my  own  loved  ones  —  and  I  fell.  But  to- 
morrow, or  the  next  day,  or  the  next  —  't  is  only  a  matter  of 
days  —  my  family  must  learn  that  I  am  penniless,  and 
Heaven  only  knows  what  we  — what  they  will  do.' 

"So  spoke  the  Senor  General,  pleading  with  me,  Fer- 
nando del  Castillo;  and  when  he  finished  by  offering  me  his 
life  in  exchange  for  an  assurance  that  the  past  would  be  buried 
therewith,  I  resolved  to  spare  him  in  the  end.  Yet  it  was 

[402] 


Which  is  the  Last 

my  intention  that  an  abiding  sense  of  his  disgrace  and  degra- 
dation should,  before  I  left  him,  sink  deep  into  his  soul. 

"With  this  in  my  mind,  I  said:  'This  is  very  entertain- 
ing, Senor  Westbrook,  but  you  have  not  yet  shown  me  that 
you  were  not  a  thief  and  a  rogue,' —  as  you  may  believe, 
senores,  he  winced  at  this,  —  'you  have  not  told  me  how  the 
past  can  be  wiped  out,  nor  how  my  beloved  dead  may  be 
restored  to  me.  These  are  more  to  me  than  any  considera- 
tions of  your  own.  I  have  not  nursed  this  fire  of  wrath  and  re- 
venge in  my  heart  all  these  years  for  it  now  to  be  quenched  in 
a  mere  flood  of  words.  No,  no,  senor;  I  believe  I  should 
enjoy  seeing  you  brought  so  low,  even  as  was  the  Fernando 
del  Castillo  whom  you  knew  in  Mexico.'  He  groaned  and 
sank  forward,  his  outstretched  right  arm,  which  lay  along  the 
edge  of  the  table,  sustaining  the  weight  of  his  drooping  body. 
.  .  .  '  My  God ! '  burst  from  the  gray  lips  of  the  brave  Gen- 
eral ;  '  what  are  you  ?  You  are  not  a  man !'...'  Per- 
haps not,'  I  replied,  smiling.  .  .  .  'Senor,  let  me  summon 
my  daughter,'  he  went  on;  'let  her  fresh  innocence  plead 
for  itself.'  .  .  .  'Senor,'  I  made  answer,  'come  with  me 
to  the  grave  of  my  dead  sister;  let  me  show  you  why  I 
should  remain  unmoved  before  your  daughter's  prayers  and 
tears.' 

"It  seemed  as  though  his  clothes  had  suddenly  become 
too  large  for  his  body.  He  sat  huddled  forward,  his  chin 
resting  on  his  breast;  he  stared  at  me  from  beneath  his 
white  brows  with  the  eyes  of  a  dead  man;  the  fire  that 
had  once  kindled  them  was  no  more  —  he  seemed  utterly 
crushed. 

"  But  even  as  I  watched  him,  senores,  something  of  that 
fire  began  to  return ;  a  little  flash  of  cunning,  a  spark  of  craft, 

[4031 


The  Silver  Blade 

leaped  from  them;  I  read  a  subtle  meaning  in  their  depths; 
and  then  the  arm  that  had  been  lying  so  supinely  on  the 
table  began  to  draw  slowly  back  toward  the  drawer  by  his 
side.  So  slowly  did  that  arm  glide,  senores,  that,  had  I  not 
been  watching  for  that  very  thing,  it  might  have  passed  un- 
observed, and  I  should  not  now  be  relating  how  it  fell  out. 
But  I  did  remark  that  stealthy  action,  senores,  and  again  I 
smiled. 

'  It  is  of  no  use,  senor,'  I  said.  '  Believe  me,  I  suspected 
what  is  now  in  your  mind.  Pause  before  it  is  too  late;  do 
not  add  murder  to  your  other  villanies. '  .  .  .  '  Suppose 
I  did  ?  '  he  muttered,  still  eyeing  me  with  that  crafty  look ; 
'suppose,  now,  that  I  did?  —  it  would  save  my  daughter.' 
.  .  .  'You  err,'  I  retorted,  pleasantly;  'I  have  taken  great 
pains  to  guard  against  this  very  contingency.'  I  recounted 
for  his  benefit  my  plan  to  utilize  the  Senor  Slade  —  of  the  dis- 
position I  had  made  of  the  carefully  prepared  testimony. 

"  Madre  de  Dios!  the  change  that  swept  over  the  man  at 
the  mention  of  the  Senor  Slade! 

"  'You  miserable  hound!'  he  shouted,  leaping  to  his 
feet ;  and  quick  as  a  flash  his  hand  was  in  the  drawer  beside 
him,  and  a  pistol  was  levelled  at  my  breast.  '  You  miserable 
hound ! '  he  shouted  again ;  '  how  dared  you  make  this  thing 
known  to  that  scum !  Take  that ! '  And  the  room  was 
filled  with  a  crash  of  sound. 

"But,  senores,  we  had  risen  together.  Even  before  his 
finger  had  pressed  the  trigger,  the  silent  death  shot  from  my 
hand  to  his  heart;  yet,  will  you  believe  it,  senores?  while  he 
was  sinking  to  the  floor  —  while  my  right  arm  was  still  out- 
stretched —  he  fired  again.  That  time  it  was  a  very  narrow 
escape  for  me :  the  bullet  went  up  my  sleeve,  searing  my  arm 

[404] 


Which  is  the  Last 

like  a  hot  iron.  See !  that  is  the  scar.  Save  for  the  ruined 
coat,  it  did  no  further  damage. 

"  Well,  here  at  last  —  in  the  end  without  any  will  of  my 
own  so  far  as  the  Senor  General  was  concerned  —  my  dead 
sister  was  avenged;  Paquita  could  now  rest  in  peace  in  the 
grave  to  which  these  two  men  between  them  had  brought 
her." 

Castillo  paused  for  a  moment,  but  he  went  on  again  at 
once: 

"  There  was  nothing  else  for  me  to  do  but  devote  so  much 
of  this  life  as  remained  to  me  to  the  little  Paquita."  Of  a 
sudden  he  clutched  the  sheet  so  madly  that  it  tore.  "  God!  " 
he  cried  shrilly,  "  what  will  become  of  her  now  ?  —  my  little 
Paquita  —  Dolores  —  apple  of  my  eye  —  innocent  issue  of 
a  monstrous  evil.  What  will  be  thy  fate  ?  O  God,  hear  the 
prayer  of  a  dying  man  — 

"Stop  him!" 

Charlotte  had  risen,  and  now  stood  clasping  Converse's 
arm. 

"  Don't  allow  that  wretched  creature  to  go  on  in  this  way," 
she  commanded,  imperatively;  "it  is  unbearable.  I  —  I 
—  can't  look  at  him  —  I  can't  address  him ;  but  reassure 
him  about  that  poor,  innocent  child." 

"Heaven  bless  you,  senorita,"  Castillo  cried  fervently. 
But  Charlotte  shuddered,  and  with  closed  eyes  recoiled  from 
the  bed. 

"  Tell  him  —  make  him  believe  it,  Mr.  Converse,"  she 
concluded  weakly — "that  I  charge  myself  with  that  girl's 
well-being,  if  he  will  only  not  refer  directly  to  her  again." 

"Swear  it,"  Castillo  demanded,  in  a  voice  that  was  no 
more  than  a  hoarse  whisper,  so  tense  was  it  with  eagerness. 

f405l 


The  Silver  Blade 

"Bethink  you,  senorita,  that  she  is  of  no  common  blood 

—  that  she  is  the  possessor  of  a  wealth  far  beyond  anything 
the  Sefior  Westbrook  ever  dreamed  of.     Relieve  a  dying 
man's  last  hour.     Swear!  " 

For  a  moment  she  faltered.  She  stood  irresolute,  one 
hand  grasping  her  throat;  then  she  advanced  firmly  to 
the  bedside,  and  bestowed  upon  Castillo  the  benediction  of 
her  serene  eyes. 

"  I  swear,"  she  whispered,  and  left  him  immediately. 

The  dying  man  knew  that  the  girl's  future  was  assured. 

"  I  have  nearly  finished,"  he  said  at  length.    "  What  else  ?  " 

"  What  became  of  that  document  ?  "  from  Converse. 

"  Ah,  yes.  When  I  beheld  that  the  Senor  Westbrook  was 
a  dead  man,  I  hurried  to  his  desk  and  gathered  the  loose 
sheets  from  under  the  overturned  telephone.  One,  the  last, 
had  not  been  detached  from  the  pad.  It  bore  his  signature  - 
the  name  of  the  Senor  Peyton  Westbrook  —  and  I  tore  it 
loose  and  thrust  it  into  my  pocket  along  with  the  rest.  Here 
was  a  confession  of  that  gallant  senor's  infamy  over  his  own 
signature;  and  what  did  I  with  it  ?  You  will  believe,  senores 

—  senorita" — for  the  first  time  he  recognized  Charlotte's 
presence  as  an  auditor—  "that  I  meant  to  take  pity  upon 
his  daughter,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  destroyed  it.  But  it  was  so. 

"  Next  I  turned  off  the  light,  so  that  my  departure  might 
not  be  witnessed.  And  I  was  none  too  soon,  senores;  there 
were  a  man  and  a  woman  in  the  driveway,  striving  to  locate 
the  shots;  so  I  dodged  into  the  shrubbery,  and  made  my 
way  from  the  grounds  as  noiselessly  as  I  had  entered,  screened 
by  the  black  shade  of  the  trees." 


406 


Which  is  the  Last 

(LETTER  FKOM  MRS.  MOBLEY  WESTBROOK  TO  JOHN  CON- 
VERSE, FORMERLY  CAPTAIN  OF  DETECTIVES.) 

Dear  Mr.  Converse: 

Among  all  the  honors  being  showered  upon  you,  signalizing 
your  retirement  from  the  Police  Department,  I  feel  that  Mobley 
and  I  should  have  some  recognition.  I  remember  how  you 
loved  my  flowers;  I  remember  your  oft-repeated  determination 
some  time  to  retire  with  your  friend  Mr.  Follett  and  Joe  to  a 
cottage  like  the  dear  little  cottage  which  was  so  long  a  home  to 
mamma,  Clay,  and  myself;  and  above  all  things,  I  remember 
that  to-day  we  owe  our  Jiappiness  to  you.  Somehow  it  seems 
that  you  have  gone  out  of  our  lives,  and  I  don't  like  it  to  be  that 
way.  Clay  and  Joyce  are  happy  in  the  old  homestead  (your 
fault  again,  sir!),  and  only  you  —  poor  man! —  now  that 
Headquarters  shall  know  you  no  more,  are  homeless. 

Now,  dear  Mr.  Converse,  the  cottage  has  stood  vacant  for 
more  than  a  year.  It  is  too  much  for  me  to  keep  up  the  garden 
there  and  look  after  my  own  household  too,  and  I  can't  bear  to 
see  the  garden  die  away  in  neglect.  So  to-day  we  hand  you  a 
deed  to  the  place,  which  must  not  at  all  be  considered  a  reward 
like  the  twenty  thousand  dollars  you  received,  but  merely  as  a 
token  of  our  undying  gratitude  and  esteem. 
Truly  your  friend, 

Charlotte  May  Westbrook. 

P.  S. —  Mobley  and  I  reserve  the  right  to  come  and  gather 
a  bouquet  whenever  we  want  to! 

THE  END 


A     000129021     2 


